


The slow walk towards a better life

by asianscaper



Category: Star Trek: Picard
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Emotional Sex, F/F, Falling In Love, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Substance Abuse, Political Alliances, Prompt Fill, Science Fiction, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 37,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asianscaper/pseuds/asianscaper
Summary: Raffi and Seven deal with their new but tentative attraction to each other as they’re caught in a web of sabotage and shifting loyalties while the planet Coppelius negotiates its place in the Federation. Set after the events of 1x10.
Relationships: Cristóbal Rios & Seven of Nine, Elnor & Raffi Musiker, Elnor & Seven of Nine, Jean-Luc Picard & Seven of Nine, Raffi Musiker & Cristóbal Rios, Raffi Musiker/Seven of Nine
Comments: 83
Kudos: 112
Collections: Seven & Raffi





	1. La Sirena

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ralst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ralst/gifts), [ToniH](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToniH/gifts).



> This is the long, meandering fic I was inspired to write by a prompt from ToniH on AO3: “Maybe something around the xBs and the Borg Cube? They just kind of got left behind in the season finale and you have to know that Raffi would have been a big help in getting that cube fixed....” 
> 
> I'd also like to gift this fic to ralst who asked for more and, very fortunately for me at a time before AO3 was a thing, gave me the gift of an archive filled with quality Seven/B’Elanna femslash. The site Passion and Perfection has always been the best sojourn.
> 
> Never least, thank YOU, dear Reader, for visiting and I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoy writing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to my betas for Chapters 1 and 2, the gracious Regionalpancake and the inimitable L_Miss_Sunshine. This fic would not be what it is without them and I'm very grateful for their time and effort spent on improving this story, especially on top of the stresses we're all experiencing during COVID-19. What a bunch of legends! All other mistakes are mine.

Cover by [leilansdream](https://leilansdream.tumblr.com/)

[Original manip](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_D4rQmpgoS/) by [Syfynity](https://www.instagram.com/syfynity/)

* * *

The navigational console was alight with familiar information, images of a star system and various statistics forming a dashboard intended to assist her with decision-making. Raffi Musiker pierced the air with her fingers, the orange holograms changing shape with her input. Satisfied with her instructions to the onboard computer, she settled into her chair, watching the main display as the freighter _La Sirena_ sailed through warp space. 

They were on a routine supply run for Coppelius station, enlisted by its local Synth population to ferry important supplies and personnel to and from Federation space. Lifting her head to glance at the main display, elongated lines of light filled her vision and the monotony of it was like a lullaby.

Raffi sought peace and emptiness when she piloted _La Sirena_ outside of the roster, blessedly occupied with unthinking tasks that cleared her mind in much the same way snakeleaf did.

She checked and rechecked the star charts, storing information about planets as they passed by and eavesdropped on encrypted subspace chatter while remaining critical of the official newsreels. After all, she was a pragmatic intelligence analyst. Her sources were varied, many, and often contradicting. Her art was in determining the real question, the problem at an issue’s core, and then choosing the pieces that could influence the outcome she desired. It was her natural inclination.

She was a collector of information, however mundane. Through careful selection and shrewd but quiet use, this inclination had elevated her to the rank of Lieutenant Commander in Starfleet. Eventually, under Picard’s command, she'd become the foremost expert on the Romulan Empire.

It had become their doom years before it saved Coppelius and the Federation from a grievous mistake. She swatted that memory away, sighing. Raffi put up her legs, closed her eyes, and hoped for a few minutes of silence.

“Fancy meeting you here again so late at night.”

Raffi jumped, slid her legs back to the floor, and turned. Seven raised an elegant brow as she made her way to the opposite console.

Raffi huffed, “Give a woman some warning. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“My apologies.”

Not missing a beat, Seven brought up a communication window. It was an unspoken routine during the late shift. Raffi returned to her previous position, but, as always, she was suddenly curious.

A woman came into view, young and human-like, with dark, wavy brown hair that glowed an iridescent green from the ambient light. A dark starburst of Borg technology engulfed half of her face. Raffi glanced at the open subspace transmissions in her own instrument panel; this was a call to Coppelius.

“Tam,” Seven greeted.

“Seven of Nine,” the woman said just as formally.

“Status report.”

Instead of a verbal brief, data flowed into Seven’s screen, punctuated by Tam’s concise commentary.

“You’ve seen remarkable progress in repairing some of the Cube’s basic functions,” Seven said, non-committal. To Raffi, it sounded like a compliment. Seven waved her hand and the display shifted back to her ops dashboard. “Is there anything of significance you wished for me to know?”

Tam’s usual, serene demeanor fell. They watched her walk to a more private setting, the PADD viewer trembling as she lifted it closer to her face. 

She sounded suddenly shrill. “We are...” Tam closed her eyes and changed the emphasis, unused to separating herself from a collective. “ _I_ am afraid that we will be denied the same supplies, resources, security, and ultimately, even Federation citizenship.”

Seven’s shoulders dropped for a moment. “Nonsense.”

Tam’s voice hardened. “The agreement was with the Synths. The exchange of personnel has not included us; we have sent no representatives to Federation outposts. We do not know what to offer, nowhere else to go. There are hundreds of us --some of us still connected to the Cube --and we fear the Artifact may fail well before any negotiations are made on our behalf.”

Seven’s unflinching composure came from true and proven proficiency. She did not deal with platitudes. Faced with Tam’s uncertainty and suddenly her own, Seven took one, shuddering breath and said, “ _La Sirena_ is due to arrive at Coppelius in a few hours. We’ll speak about this then.”

“Of course.”

The transmission ended.

Suddenly, the silence which hung between Seven and Raffi was loaded with tension.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.” Seven leaned into the console, putting her head into her hands.

Raffi reached for her horgl, lighting it as tension began a slow creep into her shoulders. Emil was well-meaning but this synthetic snakeleaf meant to distance her from her addiction held none of the edge she needed to truly relax or even lie. “I’m sure you wanted me to hear everything.”

Seven ignored the potential impasse. “Are her fears unfounded?”

Raffi let go of a long and weighty breath, smoke clouding her vision. They were both ex-Starfleet and were intimately familiar with the hoops and needle-eyes the Federation strung itself through for its own gain.

“It’s the Federation Council we’re talking about,” Raffi said. “With them, the devil is always in the details.” She noticed the exhaustion scrunching the skin around Seven’s optical implant. “Sorry. I know it’s one more thing to worry about.”

“No, I’m glad you brought it up.” Seven rubbed her forehead while standing up. “I need a drink. I can’t believe I allowed this oversight.”

“You should cut yourself some slack, Seven. You didn’t _allow_ anything; there was a lot going on.”

“Yes, but Tam and the others are inexperienced and I should have--”

Raffi let Seven ramble as she set aside the horgl on the console, took the few steps towards her, and put a gentle hand on her forearm. “Hey,” she soothed. “We may carry the weight of the galaxy on our shoulders,” she jokingly pointed a thumb at Picard’s quarters, which earned her a morose chuckle, “But you’ve got us. You can’t think of everything Seven, you can’t solve everything, we both know that. That’s a deep and lonely hole we’ve had a hard time climbing out of.”

Seven breathed deeply and nodded. “I’ll...keep that in mind.” 

She excused herself and started down the rampart which led to the mess, but Raffi could still hear Seven's frustrated, “Fuck” as she slammed an open palm on an unsuspecting replicator.

* * *

Raffi tracked Seven with her eyes. She and J-L were in conversation at another table. Rios and Jurati were overtly flirting near the replicator, forgetting the plates of food they held. Soji was having an animated discussion with Emil, who seemed to blush at every second word.

Alone with Raffi at their table, Elnor was engrossed in his PADD.

“I may want a cat someday.”

Raffi chuckled, idly turning her cup of coffee. “Pets are good for impulse control, self-esteem, social skills, and general well-being. You should consider one.”

“I will.” Elnor sat up straighter.

“You’d make a great cat dad. Anything in my care would have suffered neglect.”

“You take too little credit.” Elnor’s disbelief warmed her and she couldn’t help a small, grateful smile. Seeing that she was still a little distracted, he put the PADD down and followed Raffi’s gaze. 

Raffi could generally read Jean-luc Picard quite well but today, he had a curious look on his face as Seven spoke. The ex-Borg seemed unemotional but her eyes were strained and her hands were in fists.

“You’ve been good to your friends,” Elnor said. He stooped over his PADD again. “I think that’s more than enough. It is for me.”

Raffi took the time to study the young Romulan more closely. The boy was artless; he stared with open enjoyment at a video of a cat playing with a piece of yarn. “Thanks Elnor. I needed that.”

“You’re welcome.”

She indicated Picard and Seven as she brought the coffee to her lips. “What do you suppose they’re talking about.”

He didn’t look up as he said, “Seven wants to stay in Coppelius for a few weeks and sit out on the next few missions. Something about the remaining xB’s and the Borg Cube. Picard thinks it’s a great opportunity to refuel and mentally recharge,” Elnor’s tone changed to emulate Picard’s, “‘We _have_ run at least twenty missions to and from Federation space. The crew deserves a break.’”

Surprised, Raffi guffawed into her drink. “Thanks Elnor. Next time, try not to eavesdrop.”

Elnor looked confused. “You asked.”

“I did, didn’t I.” She patted the young man’s back. “Somebody ought to give Rios a heads-up.”

* * *

Rios stared at Picard’s retreating back. He muttered loud enough for only the bridge crew to hear, “Sometimes I wonder if I’m still the captain of this ship.”

“You like following him around,” Raffi said.

Rios narrowed his eyes at her but didn’t protest. “He’s worth following.”

“Well, we’re all here, aren’t we.” Raffi gestured widely to all of them before turning back to her console. They were an hour away from Coppelius and already, her sensors were picking up familiar signals. “Huh, they’re very early. Like, almost a week early.”

“Who is?”

“The _USS Thomas Paine_.”

“A power move or extremely good manners?” Rios wondered aloud, mimicking the voice of a newsreel reporter. “We shall see.”

They both stole a glance at Seven, who seemed busy with her own read-outs. “We’re being hailed.” Seven’s hands a blur, she added, “They’re asking for transponder codes.”

Rios sat back. “On-screen, if you please, Seven.”

A Bolian in Starfleet red stared at them with orange-yellow eyes, four gold pips gleaming against her collar. Hairless with thin, almost gel-like skin, she had a small, linear ridge running down the middle of her face and she looked at Rios with an inquisitive but unconcerned expression.

She acknowledged, “Cristóbal Rios of _La Sirena_.”

“ _Not_ Captain Rixx of the _Paine_ ,” Rios returned. “Unsurprising as the legendary captain has retired.”

Something like a smile quirked her lips, brightening the speckles of blue on the thin skin of her face. “I’m Captain Axi Ridor. I’m told we’ve started a long, ingrained tradition of instating Bolian captains on the _Paine_ since Captain Rixx retired.”

“I can see that. What brings us this very, _very_ early pleasure?”

In the background, Seven said, “Codes have been sent, Captain.”

Axi looked to her left as though a crewmember had informed her of the same. “This is a unique, Coppelius transponder code, Captain. Quite curious.”

Rios’ tone became coldly formal. “We represent Coppelius as they await formal membership in the Federation.”

“I suppose Picard and Dr Soong will be present for the trade negotiations?”

“Of course.”

“And the Borg? Who will be representing them?”

Something like skepticism spasmed on Rios’ face. Seven’s body tensed over her console, her hands hovering. She seemed coiled and ready to strike with a verbal barb.

_This isn’t going to end well,_ Raffi thought.

She took one, fortifying breath, and against her better judgment, blurted, “I and a few others will be representing the xB’s and the Artifact.”

Shocked silence blazed through the bridge.

“I’m sorry, _what_ ,” Rios hissed.

Axi didn’t seem perturbed. Her main screen must have shifted to Raffi because she addressed her directly, “Lieutenant Commander Musiker. You are an excellent choice and one with unparalleled foresight.”

“ _Not_ a lieutenant commander anymore, Captain Ridor.”

“No less of an intelligence analyst and a talented tactician,” Axi replied. “Hopefully the Federation gets out of this unscathed.” She grinned and addressed the bridge, “Good luck, Captain Rios, Musiker. I look forward to hosting you on my ship. Axi out.”

The screen shifted back to the front sensors and the starfield.

Raffi stood from her seat, trembling, and began to walk to the back of the ship. She risked a glance at Seven, who didn’t lift her head to look at her and instead, frowned at the starfield as though it held a few, mind-numbing secrets. Raffi hurried past the Captain's chair to a corridor where she could panic in relative peace.

“Seven, you have the con,” Rios called out before chasing after Raffi. When he caught up to her, he stood in front of her, his arms akimbo. “Are you crazy?”

“Apparently, yes.”

“I thought Emil had you off that snakeleaf?”

“He does.”

“Well?”

Raffi clasped her hands together tightly, bringing her chin up with confidence she did not feel. “I needed to help.”

Rios slapped a hand against his thigh in frustration, spinning in place as he tried to expend his nervous energy. “Of course you did! We all do!”

“And Seven can’t deal with this on her own, on top of the repairs and the rebuild. She’s also a Fenris Ranger. If that doesn’t shout, ‘conflict of interest’, I don’t know what does.”

“Oh, we’re well past the whole ‘conflict of interest’ conversation. Our job this whole month has been one massive conflict of interest. And now this.” Rios took her shoulders, squeezed, and levelled his gaze to hers, searching. He seemed to find something there as his mouth widened into a revelatory, “Oh. Oh _no_. I know that look.”

“What look?”

He chuckled derisively. “Your feelings are going to get us all into so much trouble.”

“Feelings?” Raffi exclaimed. “What feelings?” Just as Rios put his hands up in surrender and returned to the bridge.

* * *

Everyone was present when they dropped out of warp space. The _USS Thomas Paine_ loomed bigger than the planet Coppelius on the main screen as _La Sirena_ approached it at cruising speed and maintained high orbit. A New Orleans class frigate, the _Paine’s_ design echoed that of its bigger, Galaxy-class cousins but with very different proportions. It had a saucer section that seemed comically large compared to its aft nacelles. Obvious torpedo bays pinched the saucer section top and bottom; something to give an enemy ship pause.

Raffi whistled. “Those ships have always been impressive. Small but absolutely terrible.”

It was only a little less capable than a Federation flagship. Typically used on diplomatic missions or to protect other vessels, the _USS Thomas Paine_ was capable of sustained speeds well into warp nine and had enough firepower to level a planet.

In a deeply affected tone, Picard breathed out, “Our Federation friends are early.”

“I wonder why.” Rios’ earlier annoyance echoed across the bulkhead. “Why couldn’t they have sent Riker instead. A friendly face would have been nice.”

Jurati put a hand on Rios’ shoulder. “Give the man a break. He came out of retirement for us. I’m sure he’s just about ready to retire again anyway with the red tape they’re likely making him jump through.”

Rios patted her hand. “Eh, true.”

Picard was pensive in his seat, looking more like a doting grandfather now that he sat on the bridge in a consulting role rather than as captain. “Coppelius station holds a lot of political significance for the Federation at this time. There’s intelligence exchange, old threats and new. There’s a lot to be gained through trade: access to the advanced science Dr Soong has developed on synthetics, admittance to the Artifact which was once limited by the Romulans, immense technological knowledge and expertise.” He crossed his legs and leaned back against his chair as his face softened into a hopeful expression, a hint of a smile shining in his eyes. “And in the future, perhaps even an exchange of traditions and culture.”

Seven’s brow quirked. “Traditions and culture.” Her gaze flickered to Soji who shrugged, before it settled on Picard with skepticism. 

The smile reached Picard’s lips, lining his words with a reluctant, self-effacing joy. “We all create our own traditions and culture to pass on to later generations. They tether us to a place, a feeling, a common narrative, like-minded individuals, or more importantly, to home. 

"I’m sure the xB’s and the Synths will have something approximating ideas, behaviours, and duties to distinguish the groups’ identities; something that helps them pass on their stories and societal norms.”

This development by any form of civilisation seemed utterly inevitable to Picard. Although Raffi was sure Seven would not accept it as truth right now, it was something they could all hang on to for the future of Coppelius station and the brethren she and Soji had left on the planet.

“Well, one could hope,” Seven said, sounding doubtful.

“Yes we can.” Picard clapped his hands together. “Now, I’d very much like a cup of earl grey on solid ground. Who’s with me?”

* * *

Seven turned into Raffi’s quarters after their shift, hours after Picard, Soji, and Elnor had beamed down to the Synth colony. Enoch took over her duties with barely suppressed glee, waving her away while Rios looked on with rising apprehension. She could hear them bantering and then shouting even as she turned towards the living quarters.

Feeling unsure of how to approach Raffi after today’s events, Seven crossed her arms over her chest, standing by the door to Raffi’s quarters, which had been left open and unlocked as though expecting a visitor. Acknowledging her presence with a strained smile, Raffi continued to fill a duffel bag with clothes.

Seven cleared her throat. “That was foolhardy.”

Raffi’s laugh sounded manic. “Oh but you’re more invested than I am.”

“Negotiations won't be for another week,” Seven said, trying to keep her voice even. “Why are you packing?”

“I thought I’d get to know the people of the Artifact a bit more before the actual negotiations.”

“I’ll coordinate your living arrangements.” Seven shifted to her other foot. “I’ll also take the liberty of telling Tam and the others that you have their best interest in mind and will be negotiating on their behalf.”

Raffi paused. “‘Their?’ I’m doing this for you too, Seven.”

Seven felt her admiration for the woman deepen even more. “Fine, _ours_ then.”

Satisfied, Raffi continued until she zipped up her things, dumped the bag on the floor, and sat on the bed near the side table. She gestured for Seven to join her. Reluctantly, Seven made a stop at the replicator first and ordered two glasses of bourbon. She handed Raffi the drink as she sat down beside her.

“Thanks.”

“No, I should be thanking you,” Seven said, swallowing the entire shot to calm her nerves.

Raffi took a smaller sip and stared at the top of the glass for a while before saying, “I failed the Romulans once. I won’t leave another group of people who have been orphaned out of a home to languish and die.” She gently tipped the glass in one direction then another, and watched the amber liquid oscillate from either end. “Trade negotiations shouldn’t be too hard. The Federation has a lot to gain, the xB’s have quite a bit to offer, and one planet is big enough for Synths and xB’s alike. Those two groups are also mostly untainted by the political going-ons across the galaxy.”

“I’d like to keep it that way.”

Raffi raised her glass. “So do I.” She knocked back the rest of the drink and set it down on the side-table.

As Raffi licked her lips, Seven felt her heart rate rise. 

Seven’s past hounded her constantly, baying at her nightmares, shaking her awake. Her time at _La Sirena_ and a renewed purpose eased some of the noise but the twisting pain remained, pushing her out of her quarters into blind interest at what the xB’s were up to in Coppelius. There was guilt to that action too, and anger that simmered just below the surface. She had been their Queen, she had felt their minds, and so many had been torn from her because of the Tal Shiar’s treachery. 

The decision seemed obvious at the time: take their individuality away for the sake of the many. The price she continued to pay seemed bottomless. She thought that pushing Narissa to her death was warranted. She realised quickly that all it did was widen the gap between the persistent Borg apathy she'd been hammered with all her life and her cursory but tempting humanity.

She had felt jubilation then. Surely that was unforgivable.

Now, she guessed and second-guessed if assimilation and the succeeding murder were ever the moral choices, justifying a means to an end. That voice picked at her skull everyday, pounded at her subconscious at night, unearthing regret at every strike.

She added it to her ledger in large, bold letters, the enormity of it taking up most of the space.

Raffi had said, even in veiled terms, that all of it --the desire to preserve and protect at whatever cost --was all too human. Her voice rang with the surety of experience and in the way that a tired beholder would.

In this, Raffi's presence made it just a bit more tolerable. She was a salve that staved off more toxic emotions. Her easy, accepting manner calmed Seven during their late-night conversations.

Raffi listened in on her conversations with Tam in a tranquil, contemplative way, offering advice only when asked. Even if forgiveness wasn’t something Raffi could afford for herself, she certainly encouraged it for others. It left Seven lighter, more contemplative, more comfortably _human_ in ways not even _Voyager_ 's crew had.

It also poked at the embers of a growing attraction she couldn’t put out.

There were many things Seven admired about Raffi Musiker and more under the surface that she wanted to discover but they had little time to explore. 

They did have moments like this. Comfortable silence well after their shifts, the pleasure of each other’s company, and none of society’s judgment. Reminiscent of the tension during their first game of _kal-toh_ , Seven opened her palm over her own thigh, tentative and expectant.

This time, Raffi’s laugh was rich, husky, and low. Seven felt the flutter in her stomach as Raffi put her hand over Seven’s. “You aren’t one for words, are you?”

Seven laced their hands together and squeezed. “No. But I wanted to thank you. For this. For your company. And now, even more extensively, for your expertise in helping Tam and the others.” She paused as she reconsidered, “In helping us.”

Seven enjoyed Raffi’s touch --her palm warm and pliant as Raffi interlaced their fingers --before Raffi shifted to face her more fully. “I’m doing this for me too,” Raffi admitted, more quietly.

“Good.” Without thinking, Seven brought the back of the other woman’s hand to her lips for a kiss.

Raffi stared at her with wide, brown eyes. They were soft and measured like the best beginning and the colour of her cheeks deepened, a blush that Seven would remember for days.

* * *

TBC


	2. The  Artifact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raffi and Seven beam down to the Artifact to take stock of what can be put on the negotiation table, and slowly fall even deeper into the brewing attraction between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to my betas for Chapters 1 and 2, the gracious Regionalpancake and the inimitable L_Miss_Sunshine. This fic would not be what it is without them. All other mistakes are mine.

Cover by [leilansdream](https://leilansdream.tumblr.com/)

[Original manip](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_D4rQmpgoS/) by [Syfynity](https://www.instagram.com/syfynity/)

* * *

Agnes Jurati stooped over the transporter console. She was a disgruntled cyberneticist with several degrees in synth development who was forced to tackle the steep learning curve of transporter technology.

“Can you both just check in with Picard please,” she said as her fingers leaped over the controls. “I’d hate to have to explain why you’re both missing from the ship.”

Seven tapped her communication device too hard. The device chirped. “Seven to Picard.”

_“Picard here.”_

“Raffi and I will be at the Artifact to take stock of what can be put on the negotiation table. Don’t wait up for us.”

_“Of course, Seven. I’ll have Elnor join you if you need assistance”_

“I shall let you know. Seven out.” She gave Jurati a ‘Now are you happy? _’_ look. Standing patiently beside her, Raffi hid her amusement behind a hand.

“Thank you,” Agnes said, unaffected. “Now, if you’re both ready, I’ll beam you over to a spot a kilometre or so from the Artifact. Can’t get you closer, there's a bit of electrical interference nearby. Should be an easy, romantic stroll.”

“Romantic?” Raffi mumbled, narrowing her eyes at her. 

Jurati lifted a hand as though to silence them both, and then pushed the air in a fluid, upward motion. They disappeared from the platform, their atoms shimmering into a quantum state.

Raffi’s complaint started on the ground when they reappeared. “There is nothing romantic about trade negotiations.” She picked up her duffel, using its two handles to convert it into a backpack.

Seven did the same, pulling out a PADD from her back pocket. She examined the orange holographic read-outs and their surroundings. “I think she meant the walk.”

Again, Raffi blushed. Seven took careful note and promised to somehow replicate it. 

It was early into this new attraction. Seven knew Raffi's interest, saw it in how her breathing changed when Seven was in close proximity, how her irises blew out to a dark and luscious brown in low light, how she stared at Seven's lips when they talked. 

Seven could be so bold --years as a species bent on perfection and then as a successful Fenris Ranger bred unwavering confidence --but she took Raffi's lead. It was reminiscent of times when she knew observation and data collection were key to the next best action.

Raffi had experienced enough heartache in her life. She deserved a gentle touch.

Seven let her attention settle on the Borg Cube towering over them --a monolith so artificial and out-of-place, that it seemed like a Titan child had dropped its toy in a puddle. Wispy, white clouds settled at its top, some of it darkening at its other edge as a small electrical storm formed, its sheer size creating weather just like the smaller, surrounding mountains did. 

Borg were dreadful gods in some cultures. She thought that the comparison to a race of deities was apt.

They were at the shores of Collision Lake, the pebble beach shifting beneath small, murky waves. Their soft clinks cajoled the sound of churning water, rhythmic like chimes. Although the defence flowers had softened the Cube’s fall into the water, the resulting deluge left dried mud and debris in its wake. Large branches cut through surrounding flora and rocks twice their size were upended from beneath the lake and deposited close to shore.

Seven watched Raffi carefully as the other woman turned her attention to the Cube. It took up nearly two-thirds of their vision, blotting out their view of the sky. It possessed a presence so commanding, a colour so ominous and dark even in the sunlight, and a structure that modelled apathy so clearly in its precise, straight lines that it frightened species into submission.

She was relieved to find awe in Raffi’s face, nothing more. 

"I keep forgetting how big it is," Raffi said, lifting a tricorder and then walking in the direction the instrument advised.

Seven followed close behind, her eyes straying over an exposed neck, sinewy arms uncovered to deal with the heat. She lowered her gaze. Distraction in the wilderness could be fatal.

Seven said, "After Wolf 359, many people have a visceral reaction to it. Trauma mostly."

Raffi hummed. "Well, it's become a home too."

Seven paused at that, lightly struck by her perspective. She shouldn't have been surprised; Raffi always tried to look at something from different angles, for even the smallest ways to press forward.

They walked in companionable silence for twenty minutes before Raffi’s tricorder chirped after a dutiful scan of the area. They spotted a small party of three approaching them. 

“The welcome committee.”

“That would be Tam,” Seven said. “I left word we’d be arriving. They don’t get many visitors. You’d probably be the most exciting thing to happen to them in days.”

“Oh, c’mon Seven. You’re pretty exciting too.” Raffi winked at her.

Seven’s stomach did a somersault and she hid her pleasure by walking ahead.

Tam Pitto was about Seven’s height with a face that bordered on vacant if not for eyes that glinted with new curiosity. Her left cheek was fused with dark and sinuous tritanium, the skin surrounding it pale and scarred. The horrors marked her permanently on the face and neck, stippling her with starbursts of metal. She tamed her thick, wavy brown hair in a loose ponytail, wisps falling over her eyes. 

The Borg assimilated her at a very young age; her youth was obvious in how she deferred to Seven, remnants of her own Starfleet training. The rest of her had a healthy, dark flush --likely a product of Coppelius’ desert-like climate and hours spent outdoors. 

Previously rehabilitated when the Artifact was still Romulan property, she was one of Hugh’s most promising researchers and, to Seven’s surprise, one who took after his skills as a leader.

As with anyone who had been with the Borg for long stretches of time, her experience of an open and accepting society, or any society for that matter, was limited at best, non-existent at worst. But the xB’s were always learning. A few dared to tap into their pasts unassisted, fewer still adapted to memory by projecting old habits unto their present lives.

Seven was well aware of the kind of medical and mental support the ex-Borg needed, especially after the submatrix collapse from assimilating the Romulan Imperial scout ship _Shaenor_ and its wayward passenger, Ramdha. Her insanity had disrupted their programming, leaving bits of corrupted code in everyone.

Tam was one of the few in the maturation chambers whom Hugh had been able to coax into a relatively normal existence.

Seven glanced back at Raffi, who gave her an encouraging smile. More than ever, she was grateful the tactical officer had offered her skills. Seven may have quit Starfleet, but she was aware that the Federation nurtured its protectorates in things other than security and defense.

“Tam,” Seven said.

Tam reached out with a bare hand. Seven raised a brow.

“What’s this?” The handshake was new; xB’s did not normally initiate them.

“A gesture of welcome and friendship,” Tam said, matter-of-fact. “Also, tactile connection seems to help with our newer recoveries.”

Without hesitation, Seven clasped her arm in a firm, Roman handshake. They pulled at each other with enthusiasm they could feel but couldn’t readily express, smiles curling the edges of their lips. 

“Welcome back, Seven of Nine,” Tam said, releasing. She walked up to Raffi and offered the same greeting. “And welcome to Collision Lake, Ms Musiker.”

“Just Raffi, thanks.” They shook hands.

“Please, let us take your bags.” She gestured to her companions who immediately followed. Raffi surrendered her things; Seven hung on to hers. “Our spines are reinforced with tritanium,” Tam explained before pulling away to lead them.

Raffi shared her amusement with Seven. “Nice to know.”

The walk to the Cube was shorter now that they took a well-trodden path.

A large group of xB’s were milling around not far from the entrance of the cube, a few looking up to see their party coming over the ridge. Workers were stooped over the ground, putting up tents that were made of strong, canvas-like material enclosed on all sides, providing shelter from the frequent electrical storms. Seven spied makeshift tables and chairs, a few unmade cots as they passed.

There were at least five open fires, vestiges of what should have been a previous life, with pieces of meat and pots cooking over them.

A few tents --these ones open on all sides --hung over tall, black geometric shapes that trailed wiring back into the Cube. Inside these tents, several xB's held various devices, scanning, calibrating, and studying. They wore loose-fitting cotton layered with black matte canvas material, some faces covered in shemagh scarves. The same material was worn in different configurations as though the replicators had been programmed with a set of limited textiles. 

For the most part, these workers seemed robotic and eerily coordinated, but Seven understood this desire for routine. One did not deal with their Borg past face-on, not after decades of violent assimilation and untamped evolution for the sake of the hive mind. The Artifact's submatrix collapse was also unique, catalysed by assimilating Ramdha who had failed to absorb the Admonition and had lost her mind instead.

Seven set a personal reminder to check on the Disordered Ward. Those in it were still Romulan citizens, lost and needing repatriation.

Tam led them through the town of tents. “Others choose to sleep and work outside until their implants need maintenance. For most of us, the open space is intimidating. We’ve tried to repair enough alcoves for everyone. It’s...a process.”

“Understood,” Seven said.

A part of the Cube was not submerged, wedged into the ground by the shores of the lake. A gangway led to the interiors, entrance to a cave made of artificial quadrilateral patterns. Inside, the angular walls absorbed light from the flood lamps, non-reflective and obsidian. In contrast, the people within were illumined like ghosts, pale faces glowing, some eyes shining and encased in ocular implants.

In the large gathering area made of solid, rock-like tritanium, many races seemed lost in the comfort of routine. Only some had the peaceful look of having been found, an honest smile or two between xB’s, interested and animated dialogue amongst a few. All of them were haunted, picking at the visible tritanium on their skins, and accepted this new reality by repairing what they could.

Tam allowed them to absorb the scene before saying, “I’ve arranged adjacent living quarters for you both. Please follow me.”

Tam led them through the end of a corridor and then turned left into a shorter one which terminated at two doors. These opened to reveal two rooms, one stark and unlived in with an immaculate bed, side tables with two or three books stacked on top of each other, and a large desk furnished with four, comfortable-looking chairs. Several holographic displays showed read-outs, already connected to the ship’s computer. Oddly, a healthy fig leaf tree sat in a far corner, two orchids framed the bed, and a large tulip in water had been placed on the desk.

The other was the same one Seven had commandeered after the Cube crashed, empty but for a cot that had been hastily made.

“That’s yours,” Seven told Raffi, pointing to the furnished room.

“Well that’s practically five stars compared to yours,” Raffi said, taking her duffel from the xB’s with a ‘thank you’.

“It’s doubling as an office.”

“I can see that.” She nodded at Tam. “Thank you for thinking of everything.”

Tam’s eyes flickered minutely to Seven’s. “It wasn’t my idea. Seven had precise instructions.” She avoided the sudden earnestness in Raffi’s gaze as she excused herself. “I’m sure Seven is more than acquainted enough with the Artifact to show you around. Dinner can be at any time you wish although we hold a communal one outside the Cube at sunset.”

Tam left them, her boots echoing through the corridor as she exited.

“Well that one’s about as bossy as you are.”

Seven caught Raffi’s appreciative stare and felt something burn in her chest. Was it jealousy? Indignation? They felt foreign and clawing, and she nearly brought a hand up to one of her ribs. She let go of a frustrated breath. “I’ll let you get some rest. I know it’s a lot to take in. We can start the walk-around and briefings tomorrow.”

Raffi took her forearm and her hand was luxuriously warm, stopping Seven from moving, or even thinking.

“I appreciate the personal touches.” She gestured at her room, her eyes lingering on the white tulip in the vase. “It’s a lot more than what we have on the ship.”

The sudden enjoyment she got from Raffi’s gratitude made Seven’s tone a little less stiff. “You’re welcome.”

Raffi looked confused, uncertain. “Join me for dinner? I could use the company, and the introductions.”

“Of course,” Seven said, this time more gently. She was rewarded again --a tender, Raffi smile that started to melt whatever was left in Seven’s organic body.

* * *

After settling into their respective rooms and unpacking their things, Seven and Raffi found Tam outside in one of the open-air tents, spooning food from a large stew pot onto someone else’s plate, her brown eyes shining as she imparted the origin of the dish.

“It’s an old family recipe,” Tam explained. “Meat, usually chicken or pork, simmered in soy sauce and vinegar, some bay leaves for flavour. I remember having it when I was younger and some of the others have taken a liking to it. Now we make it often, in case anyone wants to try cooked food. It’s easy to make.”

The other woman asked, “Does it have a name?”

“ _Adobo_ ,” Tam said. “It’s a Filipino dish, also a favourite on the _USS Tombaugh_ before assimilation in 2362.”

“Oh, I see. It’s from Earth then.” She examined their dinner under the waning sunlight. “I didn’t know xB’s had heirloom recipes to share.”

“Most of us don’t,” Tam said, sobering. “Some of us can only hope to remember even a portion of our past lives. I’ve been severed long enough from the Collective to have retrieved some of my memories.”

Tam and the woman moved to sit at a long table. As the other woman turned, recognition lit Raffi’s face. “Soji?”

Soji Asha looked up from her seat. “Raffi,” she said, reaching for utensils sticking out from a container at the centre and gesturing for them to join her. “Tam was just explaining a camp favourite.” 

“Looks delicious.” Raffi’s smile broadened as she sat opposite to them and then moved to allow Seven some space beside her. “What are you doing here?”

“Picard mentioned you were preparing for negotiations. I don’t believe my people and the xB’s have opened any channels of communication. I’m here as the Synth representative to the Artifact,” her gaze lingered on Seven before turning back to Tam beside her, “if you’ll have me, that is.”

Seven watched Tam process this new information. “We can use as many allies as we can get.”

“Good,” she said. “Dr Soong and I agreed it would be beneficial if Coppelius as a planet presented a united front during the negotiations. An alliance between our people can make Coppelius a more formidable trade partner. It has the added benefit of including the xB’s in the protectorate as a default.”

“You’ve read my mind, kid,” Raffi said. “Looks like you have a knack for diplomacy. We’d be lucky to have you on our side of the negotiation table.”

Soji let go of a self-deprecating laugh. “Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t even started.” Soji took her first bite from her plate and rolled her eyes in pleasure. “This is delicious Tam.”

The xB hid a smile by eating as well. “I guess these small things aren’t just figments from my past. They can be real parts of my present, too.”

Seven could see Soji’s eyes dull with sympathy --from a memory that was also a lie. Seven knew that Soji Asha’s mind had been inserted with false memories to help her in her mission and to prevent enemies from discovering the Synth homeworld. Only recently privy to the truth, her identity represented a continual effort to gather shattered, disparate pieces; it required persistent introspection and gave Soji an intensity Seven could see in herself. 

Seven’s chest ached for her at the thought.

Soji bit her lip as she herded her food to one side of her plate. “We can choose these things,” she said, as though to convince herself. “We are the captains of our fate.”

"We are," Tam assured.

Seven couldn't help a deep breath of Collision Lake’s dry air --in and out --measuring the depth of this early friendship against her own lack of community so early in her emancipation from the Borg. Understanding hung like a thick rope between these two and she felt faintly jealous. She had forged her path without anyone else who had recovered from the Borg to share with, not until Icheb, Azan, Rebi, and Mezoti. And even then, she had been the example the children looked up to, the one who had to pour knowledge and comfort into their cups.

At the same time, she felt relieved. Their peoples’ fates had hung at a precipice but Soji and Tam were forging a clearer, more solid path together, filling a figurative vessel of shared experience.

She felt a hankering for this _adobo_.

"Come on. Let's get some food."

Raffi grinned and followed her. "Must be in the chicken."

"What is?"

"All that tradition and culture J-L was talking about."

Seven narrowed her eyes at Raffi before she hung her head and laughed, realizing this was Raffi’s attempt at lightening the mood. “Must be.”

Raffi seemed pleased and handed Seven a plate. “The kids are going to be alright,” Raffi said, watching the Synth and the xB as they ate in companionable silence.

“Yeah.” Seven felt her shoulders relax as she reached into the pot for her own serving of dinner. Her chest opened as she breathed, “Yeah, I guess they will be.”

* * *

At sunrise, the view of the Borg Cube from Collision Lake’s far shore was no less impressive than if Raffi was standing right in front of it. Its harsh lines tempered and cradled by low-lying mist, with flocks of water birds traversing three kilometres of light-eating tritanium, the Artifact seemed almost too ethereal to be real in the mellow shades of an early morning. It was a tyrant’s fortress, the Borg Collective’s expression of power and hubris, glowing green through its lattices of foreign metal.

_And now it belongs to Coppelius_ , Raffi thought. 

“That’s a lot of tritanium,” she began, gauging her friends’ reactions.

Soji breathed deeply. She was perched, cross-legged, on a large boulder, her wide eyes taking in every line and angle of the starship beached at the far side. 

“You’ve mentioned it before,” the Synth said. “It’s a home. Unless the xB’s wish to relocate to Coppelius station, it should be treated as such, rather than something to be dismantled and sold. Besides, there’s something more precious to trade and regulate. You don’t want all that Borg expertise, technology, and research taken off-planet and then used, unchecked.” 

Suddenly, they were taken a few months back to when Soji Asha had been faced with the decision to finish a beacon that would grant her people the power to destroy all their enemies. 

Her voice lowered, pensive. “A Borg Cube is one of the galaxy’s most powerful weapons. Perhaps only an ex-Borg can understand the repercussions of possessing such a thing.”

Soji caught Seven’s gaze and Seven shuffled closer to Raffi, discomfited. Tam, who was slowly pacing across the shore in front of them, paused and straightened as Soji acknowledged her as well.

Raffi couldn’t help an indulgent smile. She welcomed Soji’s clarity, especially when it wasn’t directed at her.

She pulled out her PADD from a nearby pack and began to take notes. “I’m including commitments to facilitate exchange in expertise while also maintaining effective controls over the technology shared and its applications.”

She took their silence as acceptance. 

They had spent most of the night stooped over the large table in Raffi’s quarters, bathed in artificial light. It was Seven who eventually noticed Raffi nodding off to sleep and called for a few hours’ break. Enhanced by Borg and Synth technology, her companions would have continued unabated.

It was a pleasant surprise to find them again this morning, waiting for her outside the Cube and already packed for a day of exploring Collision Lake’s general vicinity.

Tam had handed her a walking stick. “We think exercise is good for stress. You’ve been working very hard.”

Raffi felt decidedly special then -- _seen,_ really --and couldn’t help but bask in Seven’s indulgent smile. It was a good feeling.

Now, she was grateful for the space. In the young light of this new dawn, Raffi continued to draft the skeleton of a trade agreement. It would dictate the ex-Borg’s voice in Coppelius’ wider narrative while three of its foremost authors examined the roles they were to play --together, as a larger community of hybrids and exiles, and also apart --as individuals who had made great sacrifices to establish what made them truly and unequivocally _alive_.

* * *

When Soji and Tam called it an evening, laughing over a stew that smelled of roasted peanuts and pork that Tam fondly called _kare-kare_ , Seven walked Raffi back to their rooms, her hands clasped behind her in an endearingly formal stance as she walked ahead and led the way.

“So dinner was another Filipino dish?” Raffi asked, recalling the long stalks of starkly green bok-choy, over-cooked eggplant, and melt-in-your mouth meat with fondness.

“Yes,” Seven said. “Honestly I envy how much Tam’s been able to recall her past life on the _Tombaugh_. It must give her a lot of comfort, a sense of identity and belonging, to be able to share it with the rest of us.”

“Y’know,” Raffi began, thoughtful, “I’m sure she’s making it up as she goes. She may remember her past but she’s far from the person she used to be, not after what the Collective did to her.”

Seven stopped and Raffi nearly walked into her. “You’re right, of course,” Seven said, her eyes wide as she noticed just how close Raffi suddenly was to her.

Raffi chose to enjoy Seven’s proximity. She could feel the heat radiating from their bodies, the strange tension in the air as Raffi ruminated loudly and found Seven watching her lips, “Tam’s sharing the traditions she knows in the hopes that it would mean new ones for her people. Look at us, wondering what every new meal will bring.”

“That’s a credit to her.”

“It’s a credit to everyone.” Watching vulnerability skitter across Seven’s face, Raffi stepped even closer and slowly reached behind Seven, urging her to break the military stance, tentative as she held Seven’s forearm, pulling it between them.

Seven’s breath hitched and Raffi was fascinated by the movement of Seven’s throat as the other woman swallowed and forgot some of her misgivings.

Slowly, her hand traced the length of Seven’s arm, her wrist, then took Seven’s hand into her own. She felt her heart hammer in her chest, roaring in her ears as Seven laced their fingers together, stretching long digits for a moment then tightening as though testing this new and tender familiarity that seeped into many of their quiet moments.

Raffi tugged gently and said, “C’mon. I could use a nightcap.”

Seven looked doubtful. “It’s been a long day. You just spent close to 12 hours drafting a trade document. I don’t want to impose.”

“Having you around and talking to you is not an imposition. I really enjoy your company.” This time, Raffi watched her more closely, concerned. “Unless you’re tired?” 

Seven’s deep-throated chuckle hit Raffi squarely in the stomach, a warmth that lingered and spread as Seven said, “No, I’m fine and will be for another week or so.”

“So join me?” It must have been the uncertainty in Raffi’s voice because Seven nodded, her eyes dense with emotion and tracking every little change in Raffi’s expression. 

Seven’s scrutiny felt like a too-hot blanket draped over Raffi’s shoulders. With barely any space between them, they walked into Raffi’s quarters. Raffi didn’t let go of Seven’s hand when she stood in front of the replicator which was depressed into the wall, her voice trembling as she requested two glasses of bourbon. Seven’s warm body pressed against her back as Seven observed over her shoulder.

She turned to hand Seven’s glass to her, reaching backwards for her own. They stood hip to hip, observing each other as Raffi leaned back against the wall, noticing that Seven had let go of her hand to corral Raffi with one arm while she brought the amber liquid to her lips with the other.

This casual confidence lit a fire at the base of Raffi’s spine.

“It’s been bothering me for a few days,” Seven began, her voice husky and low.

Raffi forced herself to speak, bringing the bourbon to her lips and hoping to hide her nervousness behind the glass. “What is?”

“This thing between us.”

“Thing?” Raffi asked.

Seven’s blue eyes bore into her before lowering. “You, ah. I…” The stammer was a contrast and Raffi's heart melted.

In a flash of courage, Raffi brought a hand up to Seven’s face and she got the answer she sorely needed when Seven leaned into the touch, closing her eyes.

“I like you too,” Raffi said, softly.

“That’s…”

Raffi added, “As more than a friend. I think that should have been obvious after _kal-toh_.”

Seven’s nostrils flared and her eyes opened, clear and warm. Raffi could definitely get used to that look, unhampered by ego or bias and effusive with something like wonder.

“I’d really like to know where this goes,” Seven admitted and Raffi could see now that the confidence had been a mask.

How anyone could abuse the trust Seven gave, Raffi could only guess. It had taken months of working with Seven, their obvious concern for each other, healthy amounts of mutual admiration and respect, and no small sacrifice to get an admission as vulnerable as this.

Raffi had failed in many respects when it came to those close to her. This dance with Seven felt frail and new, but she had a fierce desire to hold on to it. She had so few of such ties left; self-pity and guilt in the years after the attack on Mars gouged wounds that deepened with addiction and festered as she held on to her pride. With them, Raffi corrupted and spoiled many of her relationships.

The crew of _La Sirena_ \--a collection of flawed but ultimately kindhearted individuals --felt like a gift, an opportunity to build those ties anew and strengthen the connections which enriched those parts of her that had atrophied. It meant she could start the difficult journey to a meaningful and sustained sobriety.

And this _thing_ with Seven? It was a thick and sturdy thread in the tapestry of what Raffi hoped was a more fulfilling life.

That bitch Bjayzl had no idea what she had.

“Take me where you want to go,” Raffi replied, putting her glass back into the recess behind her. She pursed her lips, looking at Seven beneath her lashes, feeling coy in the midst of Seven’s attention.

Seven’s jaw tightened as she took in the woman before her, not quite in her arms but already a willing accomplice. She finished the rest of her drink and put it aside.

They were flush against each other, close enough to share a breath, to feel how the other’s chest rose and fell, and their faces were inches apart.

“This is,” Seven shook her head as though to clear it, fighting a smile, “a conflict of interest.”

Raffi brought her hand up to play with the collar of Seven’s leather jacket. “I must have heard that a few times already.”

Seven raised her brow, the optical implant lifting. “Oh?”

“What matters is,” Raffi peered into Seven’s eyes, “I really don’t care.” 

Seven hummed, this time bracketing Raffi’s body with her arms, effectively pinning her to the wall. She seemed completely fascinated by Raffi’s lips in much the same way Raffi couldn’t stop wondering what the pink moistness of Seven’s would feel like on hers.

She didn’t know when it started, this inevitable fall into each other's orbit but she had pulled at Seven's collar, impatient.

Seven's face hovered mere centimetres from her. "May I kiss you?" she asked.

Raffi's breath rattled in her chest, unable to form words at this explicit request for consent. She nodded instead.

Their first touch was electric, Seven's lips moulding a path of exploration before she pulled Raffi closer, gripping the taller woman’s hips, squeezing as though she wanted more. Raffi swayed into her, the hand on Seven's collar wandering into her wheat-coloured hair and cradling her head, the kiss deepening as Raffi opened her mouth to speak a lustful patois with her tongue.

Seven groaned and Raffi's desire sank into her chest at the sound, a strong current of affection prying her heart open for feelings she had buried a long time ago.

Grateful that she was trapped between Seven and the wall, she could feel her knees threatening to give out. She held onto Seven's shoulders and Seven took it as a signal to grind even closer.

_Oh my god_ , Raffi thought, feeling Seven's lithe form move against her hips, thighs pushing between her legs in a bid for more contact.

She was completely overwhelmed by this woman. She had only ever admired Seven from afar during their time in Starfleet, from holovids and interviews about her endeavours, to reading about the occasional breakthrough, touting achievements that spanned the breadth of Federation technology and policy.

There were many occasions she could have met Seven during her tenure under Picard. They shared enough mutual acquaintances. But who had time between Tal Shiar’s treachery and Picard’s heroics? Mostly, she'd thought that her juvenile crush on the Federation's pride and joy would be relegated to the realms of pure fantasy.

Fate liked to play tricks on her, a good one this time, and Seven was in her arms now, about as preoccupied as she was, with a personality that was remarkably more complex than her stolid interviews. Raffi couldn't help but wonder what this fascinating, amazing woman saw in her.

Seven seemed to notice the break in her concentration because she pulled from the kiss, concerned.

"Raffi, are you okay?" Seven traced metal-encased fingers against her cheek, latent fire beneath them. "Have I taken it too far?"

"No, no," Raffi said. "Sorry. I just have a lot of baggage to sort out and I don't want to drag you into it."

Seven's brows furrowed. "I hope you know we're still friends. You can talk to me."

Raffi chuckled and patted Seven's chest affectionately. "Exactly _where_ are you taking this?"

"About as far as you're willing to go." The certainty in Seven's voice should have scared her. Instead, Raffi felt compelled to trust it.

"Okay." Raffi took in a shuddering breath. "Okay. Normally, I'd ask someone who kissed me like that to take me to bed," the colour of Seven's eyes darkened to a deep, midnight blue and it nearly destroyed Raffi's resolve, "but it's late, you're amazing, I like you a lot, this is so much to take in, and I don't want to confuse you with my feelings before I figure them out. If that makes sense."

Seven smiled, stepping back, her hands settling on Raffi's hips, light and reassuring. "Of course. With everything happening, I want to get this right."

Raffi's laugh rumbled in her chest and the tension drained from her shoulders. She couldn't remember the last time a potential suitor's understanding felt like drinking liquid courage; she wanted to throw everything to the wind and just _jump._

Instead, she listened to the rational part of her brain. She wasn’t going to fuck this up. Gabe’s resentment at Freecloud had been more than enough; burning her bridges with Emmy when Raffi manipulated her for diplomatic credentials only solidified her purpose.

"I want you to know, nothing's off the table,” Raffi said. “This is just me...processing."

"I understand. I'll see you tomorrow then?" 

Raffi was relieved to see speckles of muted excitement in Seven's eyes. "Yep, definitely."

"Good." She stood in Raffi's presence for a while longer, hesitant to leave. As though rethinking her departure, Seven leaned in to kiss Raffi chastely on the cheek, lingering as Raffi took in her unique scent --the light musk she’d worked up from their hike, the aseptic traces from the Cube’s alcoves. Before Raffi could lean further into her enjoyment of Seven’s presence, the other woman stepped back to allow them space.

Raffi regretted the loss immediately but as Seven left her room, she had a distinct feeling that they had gained something infinitely more worthwhile. 

* * *

TBC


	3. Provocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raffi prepares for the Coppelius-Federation negotiations with Rios and Seven watching over her shoulder, Seven gets the Picard “dad talk”, and the negotiations take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'ed. All mistakes are mine.

Cover by [leilansdream](https://leilansdream.tumblr.com/)

[Original manip](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_D4rQmpgoS/) by [Syfynity](https://www.instagram.com/syfynity/)

* * *

Raffi peered at the large port-side window of her quarters, watching _La Sirena_ glide into the light side of Coppelius, stark and cherry-red against the planet. The Kaplan F17 speed freighter kept its pace beside the _USS Thomas Paine_ , small and lean as it held high orbit thousands of kilometres above Coppelius’ exosphere and traced the planet's glowing curvature.

If she squinted, she could probably make out Cristóbal Rios’ disgruntled expression.

_“I’m a glorified babysitter,”_ he lamented over the communicator.

“You’re just jealous that the rest of us ex-Starfleet reps get the grand tour of a Federation starship.”

Rios groaned. _“Just tell me what she’s like.”_

Raffi straightened, looking around. Three times more spacious than her room on _La Sirena_ , the _Paine’s_ diplomatic suites reminded her of the large apartments the Federation assigned to visiting dignitaries on Earth. It was a departure from a Starfleet cabin’s stale colour palette, which represented the spartan nature of an officer’s role and was composed of every imaginable shade of beige and grey.

In Raffi’s quarters on the _Paine_ , heritage colours of dark blue pressed sophistication on a panelled wall. Tall, bio-engineered plants with round, oversized leaves hung in and over gold pots. In the middle of the room, two miniature fan palms flanked a wide, marble desk illuminated by a weathered brass lamp. Raffi had stacked her PADDs onto a velvet green arm-chair with rolled arms beside it.

Large cuttings of white-mottled banksias in bright orange, the spidery gradient of red to yellow from Australian grevilleas, and fragrant eucalyptus sat in clear vases with water. They lay expectant on the marble desk, on the side tables by the bed, and on the wide console by the door where Raffi had deposited her dress jacket.

“They’re trying very hard to woo us,” Raffi said, touching the plants and then leaning in to smell them. “I’m willing to bet you these are actual cuttings from Earth.”

_“The Federation has a lot to gain,”_ Rios mused. _“Now that most stipulations in the treaty which upheld the Borg Reclamation Project have literally disappeared, the Federation would want some clear guidelines about what that means.”_

“Yeah, by far it’s a completely different preamble. I’m sure the Romulan Free State won’t be happy they aren’t mentioned in it. There weren’t any articles governing how they’d dispute any big anomalies like the off-chance that the Artifact somehow moved light years from Romulan space.”

_“Lucky for Tam and the rest, I guess?”_

“You could say that. They can completely rewrite the treaty if they wanted, or not have one at all.” Raffi picked up one of the PADDs, bringing up the treaty in question, and a counterpart that had not yet been played at the negotiation table. She eyed both critically. “Tam and Soji drafted the articles in less than a week. It’s very impressive. An ex-Borg and a Synth together could bring the galaxy to its knees.”

_“Probably why Axi’s buttering you up.”_

Exhaustion crept into her voice, “That’s precisely the reason.”

Sighing, she brought up another screen and examined the ship’s interior and layout --as much as the onboard computer had been instructed to reveal to its guests. She opened a display with Rios' face, changing the channel from her PADD to the larger projection on her desk.

Pleased at the sudden visuals, he gawked at the surrounding room, whistling. “Nice digs.”

"Axi Ridor knows how to impress.” Querying the computer with a few small strokes of her hand, she flicked the information to her PADD, which then relayed it to Cris. “Now, about this ship. It’s a typical New Orleans class frigate, cute enough to like, all function, with a bite that’s absolutely worse than its bark. These ships never age and this old gal in particular has been through a lot.”

_“Blockades on the Klingon-Romulan border. Diplomatic missions to Epsilon Ashanti III. Forays into Dytallix B,”_ Rios hummed, lovesick and happy in his reverie as he stared at his read-outs.

“You seriously need to take that tone with Agnes more.”

Rios grunted. _“You’re one to talk.”_

Raffi twisted her wrist, effectively instructing the computer to shut down all her work. She leaned forward and quipped, “Come at me Cris. What is up with all the underhanded comments lately?”

Rios raised his forefinger in mock rebuke and his facetious tone dared her to argue, _“One word, Raff. No, make that three.”_ He wagged his finger at her with every word, _“Seven. Of. Nine.”_

Raffi nearly swallowed her tongue. “Touche,” she croaked.

_“Have you told her you like her?”_

Raffi blushed furiously. “Not in so many words.”

_“What, you’ve already kissed her?”_ Rios shouted.

She gave him an exasperated look. “Can you not broadcast this to the entire universe? Who else is with you?”

Elnor’s excited voice floated from somewhere behind Rios, muted as though coming from a crevasse, which was likely the mess hall. _“Has Raffi kissed someone?”_

Raffi ran her hands over her face. “Why isn’t he on the _Paine_ with Picard yet?”

_“Because he’s got impeccable timing.”_

Elnor bothered to explain, his voice louder, _“I had to pick up my PADD!”_

_Cat videos_ , Rios mouthed.

Raffi shook her head, “We’ll talk about this later.”

Rios pointed at his eyes with his two fingers, then at her, an ‘I see you’ gesture full of playfulness. _“We aren’t finished yet, young lady. I’m holding you to that promise.”_

She made a show of strangling his projection. He obliged, clutching his neck and choking.

“God, I can’t stand you. Thanks for being the worst sounding board this side of the quadrant.” She gave him a good-natured wave. “Raffi out.”

Rios winked at her. _“You love me, Raff Raff. Good luck at the negotiations. You’re going to kill it.”_ He bowed with a flourish. _“Rios out.”_

She moved the PADDs on the chair to the desk before her door chirped. Already in a better mood than when she had arrived on the _Paine_ , she chuckled to herself and imitated Picard’s signature, “Come!” just as she was about to sit.

The door opened to reveal Seven of Nine, who paused at the door to examine the room before slipping through. 

Raffi aborted her movements so she could stand instead.

The other woman was dressed in a sleek, form-fitting tunic, clever folds hiding any clasps or buttons in the Vulcan style. Her hair was made up in a neat ponytail, revealing a long neck that dipped into a grey cravat. Her boots clacked smartly as she made her way to Raffi’s desk.

She took in Raffi’s business attire, then Raffi’s exposed arms, pursing her lips in appreciation. Raffi felt suddenly exposed and she eyed her dress jacket at the console with yearning.

Seven half-sat on Raffi’s desk, her gaze flitting over the stack of PADDs before wandering to the dividing wall that led to the bedroom. 

She pulled her attention back to Raffi and said, “Picard wanted me to check in on you, see if you needed company to the conference area.” She afforded Raffi a small smile. “Big day. Are you nervous?”

Raffi huffed, making her way to the replicator. She ordered a coffee and tried to be off-hand, “It’s been a while since I’ve been involved in a multilateral trade agreement.”

“Spoken with the nonchalance of a true expert.”

Feeling found out but mostly flattered, Raffi laughed. “Yourself?”

Seven took a while to search her memory. It seemed she found one because her expression fell, saddened, and she settled with, “Tam takes everything in stride but it’s still like watching my--,” she caught herself, “-- _a_ child take her first steps into the unknown, equal parts trepidation and pride.”

In the low light of the room, Seven looked regal but alone, stuck in the reel of a bittersweet memory. 

_Icheb’s first day in the Academy,_ Raffi surmised, her chest suddenly tight. She recalled Gabe’s first day in school, curiosity, excitement, and terror swirling in his young, brown eyes as he begged her to come with him. She doubted that she would ever see the same worship reflected in his eyes again.

She couldn’t hide the pain in her voice. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.”

Seven nodded, swallowing, likely aware of their parallel thoughts. “The newsreels will be broadcasting this for weeks.”

Raffi acknowledged her with an even softer, “Yeah.”

“The crew is very proud of what you’ve been able to achieve, Raffi,” Seven said, peering at her. “This is more than anything anyone can ask of you.”

“Some of us need to try twice as hard to get the ledger clean.”

Her words must have struck Seven because she incapacitated Raffi with a look --something she now saw more often, disarming. It was admiration and longing, and the enduring melancholy which seemed to stain their experiences with small yet uninterrupted strokes.

“As I said,” Raffi continued, breaking the silence. “It’s a process.” She drank the rest of her coffee, trying to enjoy the subtle hints of fruit and chocolate as she struggled from tripping into the tangle of her past.

Seven pushed away from the desk and approached her. Standing close, Seven’s presence was an immediate anchor, keeping her from that precipice which made her live through her past, over and over. Raffi found herself in Seven’s orbit instead, staring into inquiring eyes, savouring the present.

Seven must have recognised the agony in her expression because she took Raffi's arms, slowly as though giving Raffi every opportunity to pull away.

Raffi took the offer and she put her tired forehead on Seven's shoulder. 

“Hey, you’re okay,” Seven murmured, splaying a warm hand over Raffi's back, pulling her closer.

Raffi relaxed into her. She wondered lightly at Seven's affection, which seemed easy but a little stiff as though honed with deliberate practice, and at the other people in her life who had taught the ex-Borg this same tenderness. 

She released a trembling breath. There would be many moments to get to know Seven better, she was sure.

“Thanks.”

“Anything,” Seven whispered as her lips brushed against Raffi’s temple, moving imperceptibly to press a kiss on Raffi’s forehead. She could feel Seven breathe her in and then relax against her. 

Seven indicated the door. “Do you think you’re ready?”

“Never,” Raffi said then choked back a self-deprecating laugh. “But if not now, then when?”

Seven reached for Raffi's hand. It was an echo of all the times they had sought solace in each other, all the times Seven had indicated, silently but surely, that she was present and that Raffi was not alone.

Confronted with Seven's reassuring smile, Raffi felt her doubts thaw. That curved quirk to her lips reflected the warmth in her eyes and stole the breath from Raffi’s lungs. She stood motionless as she enjoyed this side to Seven, unfettered in such a private moment.

Raffi took in a big breath, feeling the once-empty cavity in her chest fill.

The PADD in Raffi's pocket chimed, a series of reminders about today's agenda. 

“Show time,” she said, taking the lead towards the door, their hands still clasped together.

For all the times Seven had pioneered a path in the fields she excelled in, Raffi thought it was strangely exhilarating to lead this remarkable woman through the one she was forging now.

She spared a small smile for Rios and promised to tell him more about what she thought this was between Seven and her.

No matter how mythical Seven seemed, how often she featured in Starfleet apocrypha, Seven seemed all too human to Raffi, grinning with an openness and a smile that seemed reserved only for her.

* * *

Seven of Nine must have been staring at the proceedings with disinterest because she jumped when Picard nudged her in the ribs and Dr Altan Inigo Soong announced a recess. Seven turned to check on Raffi to find that Axi had fenced her into a conversation about the possibility of tritanium supply.

“Should I save her?”

She and Jean-luc watched as Soji and Tam noticed the side conversation, promptly flanking Raffi with mirroring expressions of protectiveness and interest. 

Jean-luc said, “Probably not.” 

He smiled at her. The crinkling around his eyes was friendly but there was a certain edge to his voice that made Seven’s hackles rise. He indicated the exit to the conference room. “Walk with me?”

She clasped her hands behind her back and followed him to the corridor outside. After a short turbolift ride, they arrived at the aft observation deck. Large windows from floor to ceiling provided a breath-taking view of Coppelius, its sun, the surrounding assemblage of stars, and the _Paine's_ nacelles in the foreground.

Thankfully, with all the activity centred around the Coppelius-Federation trade negotiations, the entire deck was empty. Jean-luc chose the best seats, one centred at the biggest window and closest to the view.

“Sit,” he said.

Seven raised a questioning brow. His tone brooked no argument and he simply waited until she joined him.

“So,” he began. “You and Raffi.” 

Seven felt her muscles tense, bracing. She would have been cagey and more suspicious about this conversation except he continued without preamble, “Raffi’s like a daughter to me. She may very well throttle me for having this conversation with you but I need to know what your intentions are.”

“My intentions?” Seven snorted, amused at the old chivalry in Picard’s request. But then, this was a former admiral with a vineyard in France that he managed remotely. She sobered. “She’s a friend.”

“Don’t mistake me for a fool, Seven of Nine. I’ve noticed the looks you give her, and the ones she gives you in return.”

“Are you concerned that we’re fraternizing on your ship?”

Jean-luc sighed, looking disgruntled by her defensiveness. “First off, _La Sirena_ isn’t my ship. Second, Raffi is a very good friend and inasmuch as our mutual acquaintances are willing to put their reputations on the line for you, Raffi isn’t someone I’d like to see broken a second time.”

Seven felt chagrined. She leaned forward, half-sitting on the bench as she tried to catch his gaze. “Jean-luc,” she said. “I would not intentionally hurt her.”

His voice didn’t lose any of its hardness; instead, it intensified to the tone he employed when dealing with particularly difficult detractors. 

“After Bjayzl and the massacre at Freecloud, I should be rightfully concerned.” It had the intended effect: the full brunt of his accusation shaved all the confidence from her expression. 

This time, he faced her fully and she could see the anger furrowing his brow, burning away at the kindness in his eyes. “You lied about that.” 

His words possessed the full force of hard-earned authority. It had brought civilizations to their knees and hit her like a shuttle full of self-doubt. Seven realized very quickly that she was on the other side of a dispute with one of the Federation’s foremost negotiators.

“Yes.” She took a fortifying breath, wiping her hands on her thighs and trying to gather thoughts that seemed to retreat from any of her usual information stores. “I knew you’d be upset.”

He was expectant. “Keep going.”

“I...regret it every day. I question it,” she shook her head and forced the correction, even if it was excruciating to even verbalize, “I question why I murdered her. Everyday.”

“Tell me what you saw in her.”

If he was trying to torture her or to bring her to her limits, he was succeeding. Her eyes watered, her throat painfully tight, and she brought a hand to her nose as it began to tweak. “Jean-luc,” she nearly begged.

“Tell me, Seven.” His voice softened to a whisper, "I'd like an explanation.”

She closed her eyes, shunting as much emotion as she could only to find that it was too late to stem the tide. The words from her mouth were the overflow, “She was everything I wanted for myself, everything I thought I wanted to be. Idealistic, heroic, blindly impulsive. But she wasn’t anything I needed.” She put a hand to her chest, pressing as the familiar hurt manifested into something physical. “I was blinded by that. Until it was too late. And by the time I realized what she truly was, I was standing beside Icheb, listening to him beg me to end his life.”

She covered her face with her hands, salty liquid moistening her fingers, gathering at her cheeks. “I couldn’t let him suffer so I _did_ .” She felt Picard’s hand on her back as she deplored, “My _son_ , Jean-luc. I lost him to a monster because I couldn’t see more than two steps ahead of me.”

As she expended the rest of the pain she had dredged up, Picard chose to remain quiet, rubbing her back until she settled and straightened. 

Swallowing thickly, she said, “Probably not the answers you were expecting. But that was cruel, Locutus.” The poison she put in the name was deliberate.

He grimaced at it, at the Borg designation that precipitated so much carnage and death. “The extent we go to for the ones we love,” he reasoned. “My apologies, Seven."

“You regret not being there for Raffi after your fall from grace so you make up for it now.” Seven ran her fingers through her hair. “I can understand that. I do it everyday. It defines me as a Fenris Ranger.”

“Still, it wasn’t fair to take it out on you.”

“No,” she chuckled derisively, “no it wasn’t.”

Picard sighed, his expression pensive as he turned his attention back to the scene framed by the deck’s large windows.

“Raffi’s special,” he said

“I know.” Seven looked at her hands, one metal, the other flesh --a microcosm of the dualities in her life. “I don’t wear any rose-coloured glasses with her. What you see, what you hear, that’s what you get. She is,” Seven sighed, feeling her heart swell as she clasped her hands together, “beautiful. Kind. Resilient. Hopeful. She’s everything that makes being human worthwhile. Everything _La Sirena_ needs. Everything we both need to be.”

They were ex-Borg, looking outward at the possibilities. These moments on the _USS Thomas Paine_ felt pivotal, a shining pearl hung on the necklace of history. They were negotiations that would confer autonomy and respect to those of their kind. It would designate Coppelius as a homeworld, if they chose. It was a lion’s share in the kind of belonging they had sought for a lifetime.

If they could not enjoy it, then at least anyone who came after would.

“Well, you know the usual spiel,” Picard said, breaking the silence and suddenly jovial. “Hurt her and I’ll bring down the wrath of any party I can muster on you.”

“Let me take this opportunity to say the same.”

Picard laughed. “Raffi will be thrilled.”

“Please, let’s never bring it up.” Seven returned his smile, feeling a measure of peace. Unexpectedly, Picard’s expression smoothed into the same tranquility.

They turned back to the view and enjoyed it in silence.

* * *

Seated on the Captain’s chair with a leg over one of its arms and leaning fully against his seat, Rios flicked through the ship's diagnostic charts. He tracked the _USS Thomas Paine_ from the corner of his eye, admiring its lines, its sleek Galaxy-class genealogy crafting the way aft nacelles sat aggressively behind its smaller saucer section.

On more quiet rotations like this, he preferred Emmet on the bridge more than his other emergency holograms. Rios felt a little less alone watching the ENH man the navigation console.

Inasmuch as he enjoyed bossing Raffi and Seven around, in part because they were the most competent crew he’d commanded since the _USS ibn Majid_ , being able to revert to the language of his origins felt like he had settled into a home rather than a starship light years away from Earth.

The ENH was a manifestation of his laid back personality, his deep Chilean roots, and a devil-may-care attitude that he hadn’t been able to fully recover after Alonzo Vandermeer’s death. 

He’d purposely programmed Emmet with the lilting speech of his homeland, softening over consonants and dropping final syllables. During these moments, he liked to settle into it, his mouth moving with the comfort of muscle memory.

“Anything of interest?” he asked.

Emmet shrugged, dragging his hands over the controls. “Nothing I can see. Although Raffi’s program is picking up unusual chatter in subspace channels.” His Spanish drawled with soft familiarity and Rios smiled, relaxing even further into his chair.

“She had the time to write a program to pick up encrypted subspace chatter relevant to the negotiations.” It was a rhetorical statement, expectant.

Emmet grinned. “I’m impressed as you are. She even took the time to hand it over to us.”

“Us.” Rios wasn’t surprised; he had long suspected Raffi nurtured friendships with each of his emergency holograms to find out how best to deal with Rios’ idiosyncrasies or with the rare occasion his post-traumatic dysphoria crippled him into inaction. 

In afterthought, he pinged her PADD calendar for a request. They both needed to share a pisco brandy and properly catch up on each other’s lives.

Rios said, ”What’s the sentiment analysis?”

“Well,” Emmet’s voice sounded pinched with unease, “there have been several xenophobic publications by Martian sympathizers on less mainstream channels. Specific bytes can be tracked to news of a thousand or so workers who walked out of the Riverside Shipyard protesting the Coppelian-Federation treaty just this morning. This has caused the Federation to halt production on a few of its heavy cruisers.” 

After a few more seconds of absorbing the information from the program, Emmet seemed to tense. “The same anti-Synth sentiments are floating around on the Qiris sector’s frequencies on Federation _and_ Romulan channels.”

Rios frowned. “Can you pinpoint them?”

“For most, not really because these are inferred by Raffi’s algorithms. For a few, they can be sourced to several newsreels covering the negotiations, some of them linked with Martian sympathizers.” Emmet’s frown deepened. “There’s some subspace chatter from crewmembers who are transmitting on unprotected channels directly to other colonies. My suspicion is they were driven out of or had family or contacts on Sol IV.”

Rios stood and looked over Emmet’s shoulder. He stared at the flow of keywords on Emmet’s screen, some in Romulan, almost all of them in Federation Standard. 

Rios said, “And there’s no telling if the sentiments are also being amplified or spread by Tal Shiar or some other organisation.”

“Yes, some of these are being mirrored and replicated across thousands of channels, logs, and transit files in the sector. Without access to Starfleet’s Comnet database, all we have are derivatives.”

Rios continued to peruse the distillation of opinion before he spotted several categorisations that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “Something’s not right,” he hissed. He tapped his communicator.

“Rios to Seven.”

_“Seven here.”_

“Do you know where the Coppelius delegation is?”

_“Yes, they’re at their rooms as Dr Soong called another impromptu recess. The_ second _one this morning.”_ He could hear the frustration in her tone. It was difficult to be patient in the presence of diplomats, subtly maneuvering to get the most out of a treaty. _“I’m just fetching Raffi’s PADD for her from the conference…”_

The transmission cut. He was still staring at Emmet’s console when he felt it, a shudder in _La Sirena_ ’s tranquil hum. Even Emmet looked up to the main viewscreen, which exploded in a cacophony of white.

Flashes of the same terror on the _USS ibn Majid_ seized Rios’ body. As soon as the sensors calibrated against what it had registered as intense heat and light, he gaped as a small piece of the _Paine’s_ saucer section began to fall away, the deck’s lights slowly going out just as emergency force fields meant to keep structural integrity flickered to life.

Scrambling to his seat, he screamed, “Red alert!” 

Emil, Enoch, and Ian shimmered to life at the empty stations of _La Sirena._ The bridge’s ambient light switched to a dark and pulsing red.

“Emmet, scan for any distressed signs of life. If they aren’t Starfleet, beam them directly onboard.” He waved frantically at Emil. “Get to sickbay.” The emergency medical hologram disappeared. He shouted after him, “And take Agnes with you!”

On-screen, the sensors zeroed in on a group of hapless figures floating away from the crippled starship. Those in Starfleet uniforms --yellow, blue, and red --began to shimmer and disappear from view.

“Computer, magnify!”

The screen enhanced the image and Rios recognised the blonde hair before he could make out the face locked in a grimace.

“Seven,” Rios whispered, horror sinking to the pit of his stomach. “They hit the conference rooms.” He threw a glare at the ENH. “Get her on board!”

Rios knew Emmet would have been sweating if he wasn’t a hologram. Emmet gritted, “Locking on her signal…”

He couldn’t breath as he watched the transporter beam engulf Seven.

“Anyone else?”

“I’ve beamed three others from the Synth delegation onboard. The rest with Starfleet communicators are back on the _Paine_.” His hands flew over the controls. “I’m getting multiple requests from the Coppelius delegation, Captain. Including Raffi and Picard.”

“I can’t deal with them right now. Get me Axi Ridor.” To Enoch, he ordered, “Scan the immediate vicinity for any threats.”

“Way ahead of you, Captain,” Enoch replied. “There are no other ships in the area.”

Rios closed his eyes, feeling the sweat crawl down his back, grateful for the adrenaline coursing hotly in his veins and hastening his decision-making. He was going to crash pretty spectacularly after this.

The channel to the _Paine_ opened. “Captain Rios,” Axi said. Her skin was paler, her eyes wide. All around her, the bridge glowed an emergency red with crew members scrambling to take control of the ship.

“Do you need assistance?”

“Our force fields have managed to maintain hull integrity but we’ve completely lost decks 6 to 7.” Her exhale was laced with disbelief. “I’ve been able to recover nearly all my personnel. Two have died in the explosion.” She managed not to choke on her last words and Rios felt a pang of sympathy. Losing crew was something a Captain took with them for the rest of her life.

He spared a glance at the chunk of saucer section already falling into Coppelius below. A defense orchid approached it, sinuous and threatening as it embraced the section with its petals and dragged it planetside.

Axi seemed to be following the same scene because she commented, “Orchids in this context isn’t something I ever expected to see.”

Rios let go of a shuddering breath. “No, it isn’t.” He gestured vaguely to the concerns at hand. “There’s nothing on my scans, Captain.”

“There are none on my mine either. Our analysis of the explosion --its power signature and yield --points to a Romulan decay detonator.”

They stared at each other, uncertainty and even a little fear flitting across both their faces.

“Where does this leave us?” Rios asked.

“My first concern is the security of all factions to the treaty and to ensure that there isn’t an immediate threat to my ship.”

“You're suggesting a complete lockdown of the system.”

Axi nodded. “Until our investigation is over, and as the attack happened on a Federation vessel, we’ll need to keep tabs on everyone. I believe you’ve beamed aboard four from the Coppelius delegation.” The unspoken demand for cooperation hung in the short seconds of silence. “Look, I’m not ready to drag the Federation into a war with the Romulan Free State unless I’m absolutely sure this is Tal Shiar treachery.”

Rios stepped closer to the view screen, the line of his shoulders steady despite the turmoil he felt. “You have my full cooperation, Captain Ridor. But I want my crew back on _La Sirena_ within the hour. Whoever sabotaged these negotiations may still be on the _Paine_.”

“Agreed. I strongly suggest nobody leaves Coppelius space. I’ve already requested additional reinforcements and Starfleet is sending another vessel.”

“Truth be told, I’m relieved they are. Before anything else breaks loose.”

Axi gave him a tight smile. “I’ll let you know if we need anything. Thank you for your offer of assistance, Captain Rios.”

“Likewise,” Rios muttered. “Rios out.” With impeccable timing, Emil appeared a few metres beside him, his hands clasped together on his stomach, as though in supplication. Rios made a come-hither motion. “Out with it.”

“Seven is alive but unconscious. She’s suffered trauma from the explosion and some exposure to the vacuum. Her nanoprobes are repairing most of her organic injuries and I’ve been able to stabilize her but I’m afraid,” Emil swallowed nervously, “I can’t do anything for the Borg parts damaged in the blast.”

Rios stared at this softer mirror image of him, incredulous. With Emil withering under his glare, he barked at Enoch, “Get everyone back on _La Sirena_. And put Raffi and Picard on screen.”

* * *

TBC


	4. The Forked Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raffi starts to realise what Seven truly means to her, the xB’s are faced with a difficult choice, Rios plays the diplomat, and sometimes, Elnor is the only adult in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'ed. All mistakes are mine. Also, you may have noticed that I took down an earlier version of this chapter. Unfortunately, I had to correct quite a few things, which was why I opted to delete and then re-post. Ack, the pitfalls of beta'ing my own work... My sincere apologies and I hope you enjoy this chapter regardless. Cheers!

Cover by [leilansdream](https://leilansdream.tumblr.com/)

[Original manip](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_D4rQmpgoS/) by [Syfynity](https://www.instagram.com/syfynity/)

* * *

Maybe she was stricken with grief. The feeling was familiar, a shroud that fell around her, opaque and heavy. Guilt sat like a stone in her stomach. She felt the fingers of her right hand clench over the ghost of a horgl and felt a sharp desire for a breath of snakeleaf that would have helped her lift these weights even for a short time.

Instead, she concentrated on the feeling of Elnor’s hand on her shoulder, on his high, young voice, filled with an old wisdom from years of waiting and contemplation with the Qowat Milat.

“Stay with me, Raffi,” the boy said. “Eyes forward.”

She nodded, letting him lead her with his arm around her.

In front of them, Tam and Picard pushed an anti-gravity sled with Seven’s lifeless body between them, walking briskly through corridors of dark, geometric tritanium. The walls of the Artifact glowed green past thin filigrees of metal, seemingly closing in as Raffi huddled closer to Elnor’s side.

“Breathe," Elnor said.

Elnor’s command prompted her to fumble for a Vulcan technique. She tried to control her intake of air but she found it harder and harder to concentrate as she watched Seven’s lips turn a sickening shade of light blue.

“J-L,” she warned.

Both Picard and Tam glanced at Seven. They quickened their pace to a jog.

“I hope we’re the only other people who know about this room,” Picard said.

Tam’s eyes flashed. “Hugh passed on this knowledge to me. Seven has been the only other queen to this Cube.”

Raffi huffed, “Where are we going?” 

They rounded a corner and Picard’s delayed answer was even more vague. “Somewhere Seven probably didn’t ever want to go back to.”

Tam's words were more assertive. “We have no choice. The Cube will heal her, no matter what her injuries are. She was queen to this Cube before; it will insist that she be queen again, and alive.”

“She’s going to assimilate every drone on this ship.”

“The few that have remained. Would you rather she died?” Tam challenged.

Picard was quiet. Elnor uttered a soft, “No. I’ll miss her.”

Alarmed, Raffi found her tone rising. “Can someone tell me what’s going on?”

She felt Elnor tighten his arm around her. She glanced sideways at him and could see from his determined expression that he had been here before under different circumstances. 

She seemed to be the only one in the dark and as they traversed a long, tritanium-laden corridor, it felt like the earth was constantly shifting under Raffi’s feet. She looked ahead to where a T-intersection veered off in two directions.

She glanced back at Seven, at the display monitoring her life signs, and Raffi knew there was barely any time left. She refrained from informing her companions, their eyes dead set on the walls lining the junction.

As soon as they arrived, Tam reached out with a hand at a nondescript portion of the wall in front of them. The black mineral began to shift, squares and rectangles lifting and sinking, then moving aside to reveal a room on the other side.

Raffi was too tired to be surprised, her nerves frayed. They hurried to the middle of the room, which was raised on a platform.

Picard commented, “Agnes assured me that her optical implant wasn’t damaged.”

“Good.” Tam was unfazed. “All we need is for most of her brain function and for her memories to be intact.” 

Their attention fell on Raffi. Once again, she felt untethered by some unspoken pact among Tam, Picard, and Elnor.

“Why am I here?”

“This is the Cube’s queen cell,” Picard explained, reverting to an Admiral’s tone he reserved for panicked crew. When the Cube establishes its connection to Seven, she will be assimilated by its vast but nonetheless cut-off hive mind. It will fasten her consciousness to all the other drones in suspension.”

He closed his eyes, as though consulting a recent memory. “Our presence will give Seven the strength to recover.” When he opened his eyes again, he was looking at her, assured. “More importantly, because she will be tied to the ship unconscious, it will give her the strength to come back to us, not as Queen or Borg, but as Seven of Nine.”

He nodded at Tam. “Ready.” 

They pushed Seven to lie on her side. Tam stepped away and onto the platform, bringing up green holographic controls. With speed on the holograms that Raffi could barely follow, Tam enticed the Cube with this new, unconscious quarry.

“Locutus!” Tam warned.

Picard stepped back as long, metallic tendrils slid from the ceiling and floor. Serpent-like, their spiked heads searched the immediate space. As soon as they brushed against Seven’s body, they slithered to her shoulders and sought her spine. Five of them forced the connection, punching through Seven’s clothing and the skin of her back, dragging her bodily from the sled like a rag doll, and then suspending her body a foot from the floor.

Tam manipulated a few more of the controls and then turned to watch the results of her work. 

Once again crucified in a Borg queen cell, Seven groaned as her face crumpled into a rictus of pain, her blonde hair plastered to her temples. Her body writhed in the air, hands clenched in fists as though trying to escape the grasp of an unseen intruder.

After a few, punishing seconds, the jerking motions stopped. The colour returned to her lips, but when she opened her eyes, they were unseeing and pitch black.

“We are the Borg,” she mouthed, the sound coming out unrecognisable, lifeless and an aggregate of several, slaved voices.

Raffi choked down a sob.

In all her conversation with Seven, Raffi knew that this was inimical to everything Seven wanted for herself. They had thrown her into a sea to drown in a past, which she chose to rise above every single day.

Raffi pulled away from Elnor and before anyone could protest, she took Seven’s hand in her own.

“Seven,” she urged.

The woman turned to her, blinking, her infinite eyes forced to see beyond the press of thousands against a Borg Queen’s consciousness.

“Raffaela Musiker,” Seven said. This time, she spoke with a singular voice that trembled, struggling amidst the Borg in her.

To Raffi's immediate surprise, Seven was gentle, her fingers tangling around Raffi’s in a gesture both familiar and intimate. 

But something was warring inside Seven. Her chapped lips moved without sound, a frown of concentration gathering her brows. Seven squeezed her eyelids shut, grunting as the pained, human part of her convulsed against the jerky articulations of an anesthetized machine.

Raffi tightened her grasp, watched as Seven fought from sinking into a tarry bog of apathy.

Raffi knew its shores. Hung on snakeleaf, she visited it often, hoping to be desensitised with immobility. It was a conflict Raffi had lost far too many times at Vasquez Rocks, nurtured in a decrepit greenhouse surrounded by desert.

But Seven was stronger than most people Raffi knew, and Seven’s hunger to feel and to possess her own mind was primal. It overtook every stretch of muscle in Seven’s body. In the way Seven reached outwards, nearly dropping Raffi’s hand, her palms outstretched.

“No!” Seven screamed, defiant, tears leaking from her eyes. Her hands curled into fists, mutinous.

The machinery attached to her flagged, lowering her before they straightened, reanimated by something other than the compulsion to assimilate. 

Seven gasped, gulping air, and then they all knew that the hive mind had retreated.

For a moment, Seven’s gaze was a solid but listless blue, reserved only for her. 

“Raffi,” she whispered before her body finally slumped, unconscious.

Raffi’s vision blurred, her eyes watering.

"What have you put her through?" she asked in a tortured whisper.

Tam's gaze flickered to Elnor and Picard. A thread seemed to tie them together, experiences shared and unvoiced.

It was Picard who spoke, "What anyone would under the circumstances to save a life." There was a near-imperceptible shake of his head, a minute regret before Elnor put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He seemed to wake up from his reverie and said, "Likely the same choice she would've made to save ours."

Raffi still held Seven's hand, which trembled at intervals as though she was in a deep sleep and examining every injection of thought from the Cube.

Tam touched Raffi’s arm. “She’s recovering,” the xB reassured, taking a deep breath as she studied the flow of information on the queen cell’s display. Relief softened Tam’s brow but only by a little bit. “It can be a bit of a shock, but the Cube will obey its queen’s whims.”

“Her whims?”

“Well.” Tam gave her a meaningful look. Though Tam frowned more from concentration now than actual stress, Raffi appreciated the calm she tried to assert in her voice, “She’ll come back to you, of that I’m sure.”

Raffi laughed wetly, unbelieving. She spared a sad glance at Picard, who tried to reassure her with a fragile smile, then wiped away the water sitting on her cheeks. 

“One can hope, Tam,” she said. She turned her attention back to Seven, realising with such bad timing that Seven had dug a place in Raffi’s heart, all without her noticing.

* * *

The starship moved on a perceptible course, skimming over brown continents and bodies of water. Gazing at the view port behind the desk, he watched Coppelius’ curvature glow with a thin halo of blue, a bright jewel against the vast black of space.

Cristóbal Rios snapped back to attention just as Axi Ridor offered him a cup of coffee.

He was seated opposite to the _Paine’s_ captain in her ready room, a familiar but uncomfortable enough position from his time as a subordinate in the _USS ibn Majid_ that he squirmed in his seat. He opted to cross his legs in an act of quiet defiance and mostly, to prevent his leg from jumping up and down, restless.

Today, he wasn’t the captain’s second-in-command. Instead, he was a guest.

Once more looking at his PADD, he dropped it on his lap. “Is this a hunt for a murderer or a rescue mission?”

Hurt and anger pinched Axi Ridor’s mouth as she said, “It’s both. I’ve known Bran Lekkie since he was an ensign but a crime like this cannot be left unpunished.”

Rios couldn’t keep the sympathy from his voice. “I think we’re both relieved it wasn’t a Tal Shiar spy.”

“I miscalculated,” Axi admitted. “He was clever to use a Romulan weapon but the last thing the Romulan Free State needs is another open conflict to fragment what remains of their people. The Tal Shiar likely exacerbated this one but definitely didn’t cause it. The Federation has suffered through enough bad press in the last few years since the Mars attacks; an operator acting on behalf of homegrown terrorists --a Starfleet officer with ties to the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yard! --could very well unravel the rest of its reputation.”

“The Federation has no jurisdiction in Coppelius,” Rios pointed out. “And your man is hiding in the vicinity of the Borg Cube. I can’t promise you anything, not with Tam or Seven in charge.”

“They’d be willing to risk Coppelius’ membership to the Federation and brave the Qiris’ sector’s more shady characters?”

His earlier conversation with Soji Asha and Altan Inigo Soong was surprisingly supportive. They exuded a solidarity that wasn’t there before Raffi agreed to being the xB’s representative. He got the distinct impression Raffi had somehow forged an ironclad lateral relationship between the Synths and the ex-Borg within a week. A _week_! He nearly rolled his eyes in silent admiration.

Axi Ridor had been right to be apprehensive about Raffi Musiker leading the xB’s offensive for equal representation in the negotiations.

Rios reached for the coffee and drank, giving himself time to form his words. His mouth was also dry; the last thing he needed was for Raffi to castigate him on his awful choices. 

“Remember, Captain Ridor. Coppelius has Synth _and_ Borg technology everyone would pay a premium for. Coppelius would have preferred to side with a more reliable ally, but not at the expense of its current unification.”

Axi turned a darker shade of blue. “Understandable. Please apprise me of the situation. I’d like to be able to recover our man and mete justice as the Federation sees fit but,” she breathed through her mouth, unsteady, “seeing as the treaty has not been signed, I will respect Coppelius’ sovereignty on this occasion.”

Rios could tell that the other captain was unconvinced and not for the first time that day, he wished Raffi was present. Nodding, he rose to shake Axi’s hand.

“Until next time,” he said, letting loose a lopsided grin.

“If the gods allow,” Axi said, gripping his hand with more strength than was proper. “You ex-Starfleet are forces to be reckoned with, acting outside Federation strictures. I truly hope there won’t be a next time after this treaty has finally been signed.”

Rios took back his hand, massaging it as he smiled sweetly. “Ditto, Captain Ridor. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

* * *

Raffi watched as Rios' particles reassembled near the Artifact’s entrance. He beamed widely at her after he materialised fully, looking relieved that he had finished his latest assignment. He approached Raffi with his arms outstretched and she immediately accepted his embrace, grateful for his comfort. 

They had been friends since their Academy days. Raffi had known since that first, visceral introduction, when she stood up to a roving gang in Starfleet reds bent on beating Rios into the next semester, that she could trust Rios with her life. Since then, he had saved her from every nefarious secret she’d ever expected to come back and bite her, including Picard and his appetite for saving the galaxy. Today, he’d spared her from meeting with Axi Ridor when Raffi was running on less than empty.

She muttered into his shirt, “It wasn’t a Tal Shiar spy. The Romulans wouldn’t be that stupid.”

Rios seemed to be distracted, pushing her to arm’s length and studying her for a hint of something. “Have you finally slept?” he asked.

At his question, she felt her body begin a litany of fatigue that began with her legs, her arms, her shoulders, and her head where a throbbing headache began to intensify.

“No.”

Rios’ expression softened as he led her closer to the entrance, “Raff, you really need to rest.”

She pulled them to a stop. “I...I can’t.”

He attempted another angle, “Look, you can’t do more for Seven if you’re about to collapse. And I really don’t want to meet another Starfleet captain in person if I can avoid it.”

Raffi narrowed her eyes at him and poked his chest. “I can see what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work.”

“But I’m serious!” For the first time since the attack, Rios shed his cool, Captain’s demeanour and sounded exasperated. “Listen, Raff. You were right.”

“I am?”

He projected information from his PADD, de-classified communiques from the _USS Thomas Paine_ , as well as the results of the last sentiment analysis Emmet had run.

“The man who did it is... _was_ Starfleet.” He flicked his hand and the picture of someone human came into view, stolid in his yellow Starfleet uniform, two lieutenant pips pinned on his collar. He was unremarkable enough, with the pale features of a Martian native and a mouth forced into a passive line. Except, Raffi recognised an old hurt in his eyes. Sometimes, she saw the same hurt when she stood in front of a mirror, signs of a wound that couldn’t heal.

Watching Raffi’s expression, Rios became more sympathetic, “Name’s Bran Lekkie. His parents were engineers on the Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards when the Synths malfunctioned. He had been away for a school trip off-planet when it happened; practically watched Mars burn from space.” He pushed the information to Raffi’s PADD, which she retrieved from her thin jacket in order to follow his short report.”

Rios paced the narrative to what she could read in Lekkie’s file. “That’s most of his dossier. He entered Starfleet four years later, participated in a few anti-Synth protests with fellow Martians, not enough to get into trouble. He probably got hold of Tal Shiar propaganda while he was at it. It was nothing too serious, but he held those connections until it _became_ serious when he got wind of the treaty and that his ship was hosting it. The rest is history.”

Rios closed his display, pocketing his PADD. “He went down with parts of the saucer section. God knows if he’s dead or alive. The electrical storms have been fucking with everyone’s scanners.”

“And the good Captain Axi wouldn’t dare send an away party without a Coppelius invitation.”

“Exactly. I came to tell you the good news myself. Soji insisted the xB’s have jurisdiction of a hundred-kilometre radius surrounding the Artifact.” He indicated the smoke in the distance. “I’m already assuming Tam sent an away party to check that part of the saucer section out.”

Rios looked past Raffi, probably at Tam who had followed Raffi outside and hadn't stopped frowning since they installed Seven in the queen cell. 

Rios was unperturbed. “Well, she looks positively put out by the whole thing.”

Raffi turned to follow his gaze. Tam studied them for a moment longer, uncrossed her arms, and stepped back inside the Artifact, daring them to follow. Raffi patted Rios’ arm. “She’s been in a mood. Seven's the closest thing she has to family and one wrong move can dictate the rest of her people's lives. Best to talk to her later.”

“I’m really, really hoping she doesn’t kill him. Lekkie practically grew up on the _Paine_ and I have a feeling Axi won’t appreciate it if we don’t bring him back alive.”

“But Ridor respects that it’s also a local matter.”

“To a degree. I think she’s familiar with Seven’s particular brand of justice and she’s afraid Tam’s picked up her habits.”

Rios flinched at his own words and they were both brought back to that moment when they realized Seven had left _La Sirena_ to exact revenge on Bjayzl and her men. The aftermath was a torrent of chatter on the subspace channels, and not a few mercenary fobs for several hundred thousand credits to anyone who was able to catch or kill the perpetrator of the carnage.

It was fortunate Freecloud was non-aligned, that its authorities didn't interfere with business’ or the Rangers’ affairs, and that Bjayzl didn’t have many friends. The heat died down eventually. But its continual effects included an increase in the constant, low level buzz surrounding Seven of Nine’s notoriety in the Qiris sector.

Most of the time it was convenient. Sometimes it was not.

Rios sighed. “We all know the consequences if Tam doesn’t take the high road. Federation sentiment for Coppelius will be less than positive and it will be harder for Axi and Starfleet to intercede on the xB’s behalf or to change the tide of public opinion.”

They stared at the Artifact’s entrance, at the yawning array of choices that could shift the xB’s future and even their own.

“Thanks for playing diplomat,” Raffi finally said.

“You did all the pre-work, superstar.”

“Thanks.” Raffi chuckled. “I’m just glad you’re here. Just in time for dinner.”

“Oh good!” Rios was too easily distracted when the discussion was edging on dire. His smile was all teeth, gleeful. “I keep hearing about this _adobo_ and I can’t wait.”

For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, Raffi laughed, full-bellied in a way that was cathartic. She leaned against Cris, his arm reaching around her. It felt a lot like being given permission. Raffi felt a deep exhaustion seep from her muscles right into her bones and she relaxed against Rios' side.

She looked sideways at his happy expression, at how it lit up even more when Agnes Jurati emerged from one of the tents surrounding the Artifact.

The two lovers embraced, Rios kissing Agnes’ forehead. She waved a greeting at Raffi, which she returned. After a while, Rios tucked Agnes under his other arm while the other woman narrated the day’s events, leading them both to the communal area where big pots boiled over wood fires.

Perhaps Raffi would get some sleep tonight. After all, she thought, she could let her guard down when there was no one to stab her in the back and would sleep better with friends.

* * *

Raffi could have waited a few hours for Seven’s condition to change, for her to come back to consciousness, but there was very little to watch out for; most of the work was done. Elnor all but chased her from the room, insisting that she re-join the others and relax.

Watching as Agnes and Rios retired for the evening, Raffi picked up her second cup of coffee, sighing as she warmed her hands and savoured the aroma of dark cocoa and fruit. She welcomed the cooler air of dusk, her mind shedding some of its worries at the sight of the open sky, which dashed thin strands of blood orange and violet across a darkening horizon. She sequestered herself to a table that could sit only two and deposited her folded jacket on the opposite chair to broadcast that she didn’t want company. 

Unsurprisingly, Tam joined her without permission, draping the jacket on the chair so she could take the seat. She wasn’t gentle with her own hot beverage either and dropped it ceremoniously between them, causing Raffi to jump.

Sitting with arms bracketing her steaming mug of tea, the younger woman stared at the space between them, seemingly unwilling to move.

Raffi said, “Was there something you needed?”

Tam blinked, her brown eyes lifting to meet Raffi’s. “I can have him executed. I can say that this is how xB’s treat criminals, how we eliminate threats.”

Raffi took the mug that had been half way to her mouth and slowly put it back on the table. 

“He would not be the exception if that’s to become the rule of law,” Raffi said, keeping her tone neutral, although curiosity and uncertainty brought a hand to the back of her neck, rubbing at the slowly tensing muscles there.

Tam grinded her jaw. “I can bury him in the desert and no one would find out.”

“I’m well aware you can, Tam. But _you_ would know, and I don’t really want to spell out the consequences of something like that on your or the xBs’ conscience.”

Tam’s eyes narrowed at her before she huffed, leaning backwards in an effort to distance herself from the conversation and to think.

“I can see why she likes you.”

Raffi chose that moment to sip her coffee, if only to hide her own aggrieved expression. 

She thought that there were many things to figure out between Seven and her, but after the incident, she’d realized that only one thing did --it was whether this was something they both wanted. Unanimously, they did.

The past, they can handle together. She could see it in the way they danced with the ghosts of memory and regret, offering each other's hand for support.

Neither cowered from the complication of the present, from their interminable flaws, and more importantly, from the strength they inspired in each other. The path to a future always depended on their ability to navigate the boundless _now_ ; Seven’s quiet encouragement and pragmatism extended to Raffi’s present concerns.

How could one ask more from a friend? Or a lover?

She nearly sobbed again, except she would’ve choked on her coffee. She put aside her drink, frustrated.

Tam was staring at the space above Raffi’s head, far away. “I like to think I know what she’d want me to do.” 

“We...don’t know what she would’ve wanted,” Raffi admitted, reminded of the enormity of emotion that lurked beneath Seven’s exterior --how parts of Seven’s past were inaccessible to her because Seven’s lived experience as Borg, as someone who had been robbed of her autonomy, was vastly different. Just as Raffi’s own unique experiences as a human who grew up on a near-utopian Earth were foreign to Seven in return.

“I was lucky to have been taken from the _Tombaugh_ at eighteen.”

Raffi quirked her lips, her coffee forgotten. “I think it was unlucky to have been taken at all.”

“No, I meant in the context of being able to remember who I had been before, what I had stood for.” Tam closed her eyes, took a few breaths as though to centre herself. She opened them again, the softness dissolving into cold, Borg passivity. “I don’t know if I’d choose my humanity every time, Raffi. He would’ve destroyed everything my people have worked so hard to achieve. What's to stop me from saying that we want nothing of mercy, and that justice is brutal and swift in Coppelius instead?"

"Honestly? Nothing."

"Ah, so this is true power." Her voice was alarmingly toneless. 

In any other circumstance, with any other leader who knew they could promulgate justice (or injustice) in the way they desired, gloating would have been warranted.

Raffi sighed, suddenly very weary. “Whether we like it or not, our destiny is tied to the Federation. And whether or not they realize it, their fate as a government is inexplicably tied to your own as xB’s and Synths. Injustice in the Federation is a threat to justice everywhere, just as it will be here.”

To Raffi’s relief, Tam’s face filled out with the expressivity of her human heritage, and the first impression was of quiet, pained realisation. 

Tam said, “So. Our ability to move freely, to cease to be victims, and to be given back our dignity; these aren’t possible without systemic change here in this quadrant and in others. No organisation but the Federation has that reach.”

Raffi sighed, “If you give this Bran Lekkie the opportunity, he can destroy so much more than just the xB’s opportunities.”

“No,” Tam said, this time meeting Raffi’s gaze with calm vehemence. “This particular choice will be entirely ours. I won’t let him take that away from my people.”

Raffi reached out to put a hand over Tam’s arm. “You’re learning fast, kid.”

Tam met her gaze. She was too young, Raffi thought, and had matured so quickly.

So much time was spent in the Artifact under the Romulan's authoritarian control. Coppelius’ liberation from decades-long, systemic discrimation deepened her understanding of the galaxy's inequities even more.

Now, Raffi was sure this young woman did not want to age another year under the present status quo, but to navigate change was already difficult. To instigate it even more so.

“I used to have the Federation, the Borg, and then Hugh,” Tam said. “Now, I like to think I’m surrounded by even better mentors and a harsher teacher in experience." Her laugh was chillingly grim. "It is hard, Raffi, to change something like the Federation from within. I'd rather spite it and leave."

"Then no one else will be better for it."

"Yes. But then Bran Lekkie would be dead and I would've had my revenge."

Tortured, Tam put her head in her hands and Raffi reached for her, rubbing a hand on her back. 

“Honey,” Raffi whispered, consoling, “as with anything, change starts from within.”

Not for the first time, Raffi felt like she was watching her child learn to walk, hoping that with every stumble and fall, she'd get up again. All Raffi could do was offer the best advice, provide a mirror, and force a confrontation of the issue. Ultimately, the xB's would have to forge a path themselves and in Raffi's experience, people on both sides of the fence didn't always choose what was right or what would benefit the galaxy.

Sometimes the price of freedom was perceived to be too steep. After all, an oppressor never returned the freedom it had taken without some sort of struggle.

* * *

It should have been unnerving to enter the queen cell. Severe, geometric shapes covered the walls as though squares had been neatly stacked then covered in black tar to dry. The incessant green glow didn’t care if it was the day or night cycle outside, neither brightening nor dimming as it remained completely apathetic to the presence of anyone in the room. All around them, the Cube’s self-repairing machinery hummed on its eternal march.

Instead, Raffi’s eyes were set on Seven, who was still suspended by the metal limbs driven into her back. Seeing that Seven’s demeanour was indolent but peaceful, Raffi felt all the strain rush from her body.

She found Elnor seated cross-legged on one of two small cots nearby, just as relaxed. He was in the middle of a meditation, his sword on his lap and his sharp Romulan features flat and serene. 

Raffi approached Seven, reached to touch her hand. It was warmer than it had been earlier today.

Seven had suffered a great deal of damage to her Borg implants from the explosion, enough that even her organic parts were beginning to fail. Raffi could remember the moment her guts turned to ice when she entered the med bay, the displays flashing red over Seven’s body, and then realising only later that she was shouting at Emil to let her in. 

_Emil’s eyes widened, gesturing wildly at Elnor to keep her at bay. But beneath his concentration, she could tell that he was watching her with as much concern as he afforded Seven as he tried to keep her stable._

_Agnes Jurati, a tricorder over Seven's forehead and oblivious to everyone, looked like she was at a terrible loss, her lower lip trembling. The Borg technological paradigm would have been entirely different to Synth, invasive and discordant. The look she gave Raffi was apologetic and Elnor knew to tighten his grip on her as she fought to go to Seven's side._

_"Raffi, I really need you to sit down," Emil said, jabbing another hypospray into Seven's neck. "You aren't helping!"_

_Elnor pushed her into a chair, a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place. Raffi's stomach lurched everytime Seven's heart shuddered towards flatlining. By the time Emil stepped back, harrowing minutes later, Seven's vital signs were edging on yellow._

_Tam, Elnor, and Picard transferred her to a gravity sled and took her to the transporter room, Raffi following in a daze._

_Rios met them there and looked very close to wringing his hands. “Is this going to work?”_

_“With Raffi, it very well might,” Tam said._

_Rios' eyes widened with a demand when he looked at Tam and Picard. He nearly lifted a finger at the former Admiral but stopped mid-way._

_With his attention fixed on Raffi, he told the whole party instead, “You take care of these two and get them back in one piece.”_

These two. When there had been five of them on the platform.

She hadn’t known what he meant until now, as Elnor opened his eyes to watch her and Seven. In Rios' mind, Raffi and Seven could probably run _La Sirena_ unassisted just on nav and ops. He would have also been right.

“Rios will be relieved,” Elnor commented. He paused to consider his own feelings. “I am, too.”

“Oh yeah?” Raffi said in a tired whisper as she moved to sit on the cot next to him. She indicated Seven with a nod. “How’s she doing?”

“Tam’s certain Seven’s nanoprobes can finish the job of repairing the rest of her Borg implants sometime tonight. We’ll need to move her to your quarters when she’s able to disengage from the Cube.” She opened her mouth to protest but he continued with calm insistence, “Her room is a glorified stock room and anyway, yours is more equipped for recovery.” He studied her for a moment longer. She knew instantly that his next words were entirely about her, “And we can all sleep a bit better.”

Sighing, she removed her boots and jacket and lay on the cot, situating herself sideways so she could watch Seven. Her blonde hair falling over her face, Seven maintained a small frown of concentration as though recuperation was a deliberate act.

“When did you guys get so close?” Raffi asked.

Elnor leaned towards her to deposit a small chip on the pillow in front of her. “She gave me this Fenris SOS chip. I used it.”

“And she came for you,” Raffi said, unable and unwilling to hide her awe as she brought the chip up to the light.

“Despite everything, yes. I owe her my life.” Elnor’s tone dropped, reaching into parts of him that had once been hurt --by Picard and perhaps, even by others in his life who should have been there to raise him as a proper Romulan boy. “I want to be able to keep my promises the way she keeps hers.”

Raffi closed her eyes, curling her fingers over the chip. It was curative to bask in this light after wandering in the dark labyrinths of her psyche. Elnor, all the good in him, didn’t want to perpetuate the same pain on anyone else.

“Good for you, kid,” she said, her throat tightening as she remembered Gabe’s own earnestness at a more tender age.

When she returned the Fenris SOS chip to Elnor’s outstretched hand, he was smiling softly at her, his expression eager. “You’re very lucky, you know.”

She chuckled, apprehensive. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Seven really likes you.”

Blushing, she pushed herself up on her elbows. “Elnor,” she reprimanded gently. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, everything,” Elnor said, lowering his head as he clasped his hands together. “I haven’t found anyone else who fights harder for me than I’d ever fight for myself.” He sighed, lying down on his own cot with his gaze on the ceiling, pensive and sure. “Seven’s that kind of person.”

She considered him for several seconds. “Sometimes I wonder if I deserve…”

Elnor interjected, mimicking her reprimand with a tone that seemed far more mature than he let on, “You give yourself too little credit, Raffi. If there’s anyone else on the ship whose promises deserve to be kept...it’d be the ones made to you.”

Her smile came unbidden, threatening to widen, and she lay back down in an effort to hide it. “Thanks Elnor.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, matter-of-fact.

He yawned then wriggled for a more comfortable position in his makeshift bed. It was shocking that he had so little care in such a foreign room but his story and the actions leading up to bringing Raffi here, spoke of a previous situation. It had called for absolute trust in the queen cell’s functions and in Seven’s ability to control them.

Before Raffi could even wonder at the desperation Elnor and Seven had gone through together to precipitate such a trip, Elnor was snoring softly.

Raffi turned her attention back to Seven, her eyelids heavy. “Well, you both seem comfortable enough,” she whispered, just as she drifted into her first, dreamless sleep in days.

* * *

As part of the Collective, she was never truly unconscious, never truly unhearing or unfeeling even as her nanoprobes jittered to new life. She was remarkably _more_. Every mind connected to an unexploited alcove was hers, every limb was one she could move towards a directive, every eye an aid for her next plan.

It took an extraordinary act of will to associate her mind with her frail, human body, pulling at strings and tying them together into a single point in the queen cell. 

She recognised a few minutes later that the Cube had set her back on the anti-gravity sled. Lying sideways, she opened her eyes and found Raffi sleeping peacefully on an adjacent cot, not even a metre away. Warmth flooded Seven’s chest and the insistent demands of human emotion brought her even more into the present.

She tried to move but groaned at the pain from where the Cube had sought its connection with her. Her back felt like she had been beaten into submission.

The noise woke Raffi, but not Elnor, who had the uncanny ability to sleep through a crisis when there were others to carry the burden.

Seven tried to gesture at the surroundings, failing when her hand flopped uselessly beside her. “What am I doing here?”

“They _put_ you here,” Raffi accused. Her eyes seemed puffy from recent tears and her voice was throaty. 

“It must have been for a good reason,” Seven tried to guess, daring to tease with a close-lipped smile. She attempted to lift a shoulder and grimaced, the Cube’s appendages shuddering against her back and communicating the Collective’s displeasure. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a freighter.”

Raffi’s expression was troubled. “Something like that. Probably worse. You were caught in an explosion and that part of the saucer section fell planet-side.”

“Ah. Sounds serious.” Seven looked inward, into the cold order of the Collective and into visual archives where the Cube caught a defence orchid in its sensors and tracked a blazing piece of starship as it fell towards earth. Although queen-less at the time, its collective consciousness, some of it attached to a few hundred drones, had hoarded an ocean of data, which the Cube channeled into a bland stream of decision-points that filled Seven’s mind.

Seven honestly did not have the energy to delve into the minutiae but with a cursory touch against the Cube’s larger sensors, she could feel the _USS Thomas Paine_ hovering above, the prickle of its emergency force fields skittering across her skin and telling her that it was functional but crippled.

The Cube seemed self-satisfied with this, possessive of its surroundings, only slightly concerned at the distant folding of warp space where another Federation ship was racing to aid the _Paine._

Seven pulled back to the queen cell, allowing Raffi’s scolding tone to anchor her to her body. “Tam’s been on a rampage.”

The ex-Borg kept her expression deadpan but her heart roiled with misgivings. “She’ll bring the perpetrator back. Are they Starfleet? Or Tal Shiar?”

Raffi blinked, surprised. “Starfleet.”

“Then Axi Ridor will want him alive. Tam was a junior Starfleet lieutenant on the _Tombaugh_ and if it wasn’t a matter of principle, she would have reclaimed her Federation citizenship long ago. She won’t risk bringing back a corpse if she can help it.”

Raffi peered at her, an odd, searching look which was deceivingly soft beneath her light brown curls. “You seem very sure.”

“I’d like to think I’ve impressed more of Janeway on her than my recent missteps.”

Again, her look was curious. “Kathryn Janeway,” Raffi said, a subtle inquiry.

Seven didn’t offer any more information, her chest suddenly tight. Raffi watched her visibly swallow emotions and words.

There was too much history between her former captain and Seven, very personal reasons as to why Kathryn hadn’t sought her out after learning she had joined the Rangers. Kathryn would have taken it as a betrayal or worse, a rejection of everything she had imparted to her protege. And if she had heard about Icheb or the resulting violence at Freecloud at all...well.

Seeing Seven’s discomfort, Raffi was careful not to venture any further into the subject. Instead, she offered, “I’m told you’re staying in my room.”

“With you?” Seven asked.

Seven didn’t even try to keep the eagerness from her voice. Something about her connection to the Cube, its dispassionate and slightly unhinged inclinations, made her inhibitions shaky. The Collective in the Artifact was a peculiar extension, a limb made of hundreds of intelligences threaded into a single tapestry of perfection, bending her spectrum of desires to fit into the Borg blueprint.

It made her feel infinitely powerful, present in a multiple of ways. With it, she could feel the immense complication of transwarp conduits, the eddy in her senses as planets fell into their stars’ gravity wells, and the urgent stirrings of technology the Cube was inclined to taste.

The Cube gave her the computational power to make any number of decisions, to assign probabilities to an endless array of possible situations, and the god-like ability to _choose_ with tranquil but brutal certainty. 

But the price? Assimilation, uniformity, a complete lack of context or framing from an individual’s origin, gender, race, or creed --it was perfection at the steepest of costs.

Still, the yearning for the uncomplicated single-mindedness of the Collective was as tempting as it had been since she had first been severed.

Her drones took that one breath with her. And another. And another…

With every breath, guilt throbbed in her chest at having leveraged their freedoms for yet another chance at life. 

As though to admonish her, the Cube showed her the earlier conversations between Tam and Picard, the silent assent from Elnor, and the hopeful disorientedness that radiated from Raffi.

To Tam, Picard, and Elnor, this would not have been much of a choice. Picard’s voice was loud and sure in the echo chamber of her doubts, _Likely the same choice she would've made to save ours._

“You arranged that room for me,” Raffi said, once again bringing her back to their conversation. “The least I could do is share it with you.” Her cheeks darkened. “I can always sleep on the couch.”

“Nonsense. The bed’s big enough.”

Seven focused on Raffi’s eyes, at the flecks of dark brown which held in them a softness that tempted Seven to delve deeper into the human concept of vulnerability, even as she remained connected to a machine.

Raffi nodded to the Cube’s connection from the ceiling to her spine. “Are you okay?”

“I’m feeling much better. Close to 89 percent, if not for the obvious bruising this will give me.” 

With a forceful exhale and before she could think about it any more, Seven severed the connection to the Cube. The Collective screamed its dissent, but just as she had cut off other limbs in her life --Starfleet, Bjayzl, places and people that had caused her immense pain and conflict --her disassociation was swift and ferocious.

She grunted with pain as the metal attachments retracted. Raffi reached out to support her.

“I don’t think you should walk yet,” she said as Seven struggled to sit up.

“Good thing we have an anti-grav sled,” Seven replied, failing to keep the sarcasm from her voice before pain shot from her back to her arms, making her groan.

The screens monitoring her were a cheery, persistent green but she felt like she had gone a few rounds against a large, scaly Voth...and had lost, horribly. 

Raffi pursed her lips, pushing her back into a lying position. “You were dying not twenty four hours ago and gave us all a scare. You can suffer a few more hours lying down while Elnor and I take you to my quarters.”

They stared at each other, Seven feeling only slightly defiant before the pain against her spine told her to acquiesce.

“Fine.”

“Are you always this stubborn?” Raffi chided.

“Yes. But you’re very convincing, Musiker.”

Seven closed her eyes, the exhaustion suddenly unbearable as she sank deeper into the warm padding of the anti-grav sled. She felt a gentle hand on her forearm and basked in its comfort as it distracted her from the agony stomping over her back like so many violent, Voth feet.

“Just rest, Seven. We’ve got you.”

She submitted to her fatigue, comforted by Raffi’s voice as she woke Elnor up and guided the sled away from the queen cell --farther and farther away from so many of Seven’s deep-seated regrets.

* * *

TBC


	5. Casting a Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raffi, Seven, and the crew of La Sirena have a moment’s reprieve before Coppelius’ leaders need to make a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ** _The rating has changed from Mature to Explicit._** This chapter is unbeta'ed, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Additionally, leilansdream created a cover for this fic, which I’ve now embedded into each chapter. I can’t thank them enough for such a thoughtful piece of work to accompany the story, and for taking the time and effort to bring these characters to life in a cover that evokes the best emotions --admiration, respect, and affection. Thank you so very much leilansdream! What an honour! 
> 
> Credit to Syfynity for the original manip!

Cover by [leilansdream](https://leilansdream.tumblr.com/)

[Original manip](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_D4rQmpgoS/) by [Syfynity](https://www.instagram.com/syfynity/)

* * *

The bed _was_ big enough, Raffi thought, watching the ex-Borg sleeping beside her. They wore more comfortable clothing, loose pajamas Raffi had wrestled from the replicators. 

She wondered lightly about the difference in ambient temperature here in their living quarters to the rest of the Artifact --yet another thing Seven had thought to adjust for her comfort. These little pieces of thoughtfulness were additions to the puzzle of her growing affection, which was prying her open to a flood of feelings she had no courage to face. At least, not alone.

Having someone in bed with her wasn’t something she was used to, certainly not after shoving every bedmate she’d had since the Mars attacks into states of steadily growing resentment. 

Strangely, she was comfortable beside her companion now. It helped that she was given explicit permission to share the space and that Seven’s room was less than spartan. She had taken one look at the single cot of that four-by-four box, scoffed at the lack of storage space or any ample light, and quickly said, “Nope,” while Elnor twisted his lips in agreement.

When they pushed the anti-grav sled into Raffi’s quarters, Elnor helped her carry Seven onto the wide bed and Raffi sorted her clothing, cursing at the replicator as she tried to find something that didn’t double as work clothes.

Now, she was sitting up against the headboard, a pillow to support her back. She had a PADD on her lap, her attention divided among the information there, the treaty projected on the bigger screens looming over her desk, and the soft susurration of Seven’s breathing.

This was a different peace, Raffi decided. Something to keep and aim for during her travels with _La Sirena_.

Seven groaned beside her, shifting under their shared blanket. Looking down to check on her companion, Raffi found Seven’s blue eyes peering up at her, moving from disorientation to quiet acceptance.

“Hey,” Raffi said, nearly breathless.

“Hi.”

“Can you move?”

Seven tried, then winced. “A bit. I should probably just keep lying here until my nanoprobes finish the job.”

“I can give you something for the pain.”

Seven seemed to consider it, but she put up her cybernetic hand, clenched and unclenched it, and said, “Maybe later. What time is it?”

“Something like three in the morning at Collision Lake.” 

Seven sighed, breaking her gaze and shifting her head as though craning up to look at Raffi was taxing. Her hand found its way to Raffi’s thigh and, assured that her bedmate was real, Seven closed her eyes briefly, gratitude flooding her features. 

“I didn’t count on you being here when I woke up.” She seemed so vulnerable then, recalling a number of other times she had been left on her own, abandoned or lost. Softly, Seven added, “Thanks.”

“It’s the least I could do.” Raffi swallowed the lump in her throat, patting Seven’s hand before deciding that she really wanted to hold it instead. She grasped lightly and Seven squeezed in return. “I didn’t know that asking you to get my PADD would somehow force me to confront the possibility of a universe without you in it.”

The sadness in Seven’s eyes was heart-breaking. “It’s hard to imagine I’ll be missed.”

“Oh, honey,” Raffi said, putting aside her PADD. She pushed downwards so she could lie level to Seven. They lay sideways, facing each other, their hands still clasped together over the blanket. “There are quite a few of us who’d miss you, myself included. And there’s Elnor, bless him. I think he’s quite attached to you. He hasn’t left your side.”

Seven was quiet, taking Raffi in. “You’re more than I deserve.”

Raffi’s laughter was soft. “You’re more than anyone I would either,” Raffi bit her lip, only a little unsure, “but I think we’re working towards deserving better, don’t you?”

Seven reached for her cheeks, her metal-encased hands surprisingly warm. A thumb brushed over her lips and Raffi’s jaw slackened at the touch. A forefinger tempted with a light touch over her open mouth, but Seven’s hand settled lightly against her neck instead. Her long fingers threaded into Raffi’s hair, her eyes tracking that movement as though fascinated to stillness.

After a few moments of simply taking Raffi in, Seven said, “We can always try.” 

They shared a few, calming breaths. Even if it seemed Seven was teetering at the edge of wakefulness, her gaze was a clear and fathomless lake. 

Raffi peered into them, seeing admiration and tenderness reflected in equal measure, and a longing that tugged at the same, taut strings in her own heart.

With Seven’s hands still burrowed earnestly in her hair, Raffi shuffled forward and placed a soft kiss on Seven’s mouth, which the ex-Borg accepted. Seven’s lips were soft and yielding, seeking solace and a deeper connection as she tried to press closer, stopped only by her considerable fatigue.

“I really do want you,” Seven whispered when they pulled apart.

“I haven’t had many good things in my life,” Raffi admitted, “so that can be a little hard to believe, too.”

Her hands cradled Seven’s face, stuttered over a stubborn jaw. She pulled in for another kiss while Seven’s eyes fluttered closed and the other woman groaned --from relaxation, desire, or both --Raffi couldn’t tell but the sound fizzled in her belly and butterflies fluttered outwards, agitated.

“It shouldn’t be,” Seven insisted, her breath hot against Raffi's mouth. 

Raffi finally broke contact to smile at her, their foreheads touching. Seven’s breathing evened out, deepened, as though the conversation had taken all of Seven’s remaining energy. Raffi caressed her cheek with her thumb.

“Hey.” Trying not to sound too breathy, she tried again, “Okay. I really need you to rest now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Seven’s nod was small, only for her, and she curled into Raffi’s body, pulling the blanket closer against them.

She kissed Seven’s forehead just as the ex-Borg’s breathing changed to the deep thrum of slumber, peace and gratitude a relaxed line over her lips.

* * *

Raffi shuffled towards Seven’s side of the bed, groggily coming to when she noticed that it was empty. Relieved, she found Seven sitting close to the edge, regarding her with a gentle tilt of her head, her optical implant shifting against her temple and molding into a soft but studious frown. 

Raffi studied her in return, noticing that Seven’s previous lethargy was gone.

“Your clothes are on the dresser. You can use the sonic shower first.”

Seven gave her a perfunctory nod, gingerly getting up to retrieve her clothes. Standing at the dresser, she ran long, pale hands against the fabric, as though grounding herself in the here and now, before sighing.

“Are you okay?” Raffi asked, her own bones creaking as she padded to the replicator and demanded her first coffee of the day.

With Seven’s back to her, she could see Seven’s shoulders relax. “Yeah. Thanks again for,” she gestured to the room, “everything.”

“It’s no problem at all.” Raffi took a sip of her coffee and said more softly, “You gave me a scare.”

“A visit to the queen cell is always a matter of desperation. I’m just glad I had a reason to,” she stumbled over the word, “stay.” She turned and gave Raffi a look, meaningful and unsure.

Raffi sat down on the bed, balancing her cup as she put it on the side table. She hummed in contemplation. “Why do you always choose your humanity, Seven? Given a chance, I’d like to think I’d forego emotions and feelings completely.”

Seven took her clothes from the dresser and put them against her chest like a figurative barrier. “Because it’s harder,” she admitted. “Because I know the rewards are greater. I wouldn’t have known it when I was severed, but the ability to choose how I live my life is the greatest gift Kathryn and _Voyager_ gave me.” Her gaze was suddenly far away, examining a past. “It also happens to be the most human part of me.”

“Fair point.” Raffi closed her eyes for a brief second, trying to gather the sum of her life in these few moments and compare its weight to Seven's. “They also happen to be the most painful.” She could feel her eyes crinkle with mirth as she opened them and took in Seven’s tall, statuesque form. “The happiest, too.”

“You can say that,” Seven said, “especially when the choice to be happy is yours.”

They contemplated the silence, comfortable and light in the space between them before Seven cleared her throat and stepped into the shower room.

Raffi was left to her thoughts as the low hum from the sonic shower filled the room. Even though she’d served in Starfleet where so many of her peers were from other worlds, Raffi took much of her humanity for granted. Here, just a few metres away, was a woman who made a choice to be human, to feel the full brunt of connection between one person and the next, and indulged in the breadth of consequence from those relationships. Enough that the temptation of unlimited power and depthless knowledge could not compete.

Everytime Raffi succumbed to the snakeleaf, it was a choice to render those ties invisible --the long, thin threads to Gabe, the ones that stretched to Emmy, to the millions of lives she'd failed, and even those newly woven ones to J-L --seething in smoke until she could move unfettered. But in the end, she’d wake from that momentary reprieve, the noose tighter than ever before, and she would need more to smoke. 

In Vasquez Rocks, she hunted down purer varieties of her drug, growing them in her backyard, hoping she’d find a strain that would make all of it unravel or disappear.

Emil, that version of Cris who looked at her with pursed lips, pity in his eyes that Rios wouldn’t be caught dead with, and also, the grim determination of his (medical) profession, would hand her synthetic leaf and say, “The substance itself isn’t the problem, Raffi. It’s something else you’re running from.”

She’d nod and go, the words sliding off her like rain on a coat while she tried desperately to quash reminders of a time and a place that had seen her lose 5 million lives, and not for lack of trying. The universe dealt her a hand, and her best just hadn’t been good enough. Typically, a Starfleet officer, or any person with a vocation, didn’t live down that kind of guilt, pain, and disappointment; her remaining tenure in Starfleet was excruciating thereafter. How J-L managed a vineyard after his retirement baffled her, but she knew it had been a form of escape for him, too.

With a start, she noticed that her horgl had been largely untouched, tucked in her duffel. She felt a momentary prickle of need, like the ghost of a limb, but whatever void she had been trying to fill seemed to have found some sort of inlet here in Collision Lake. Before she could examine this thought further, Seven stepped out of the shower. 

The grease was gone from her wavy blonde hair, her complexion a little more rosy than yesterday. She seemed nearly herself, encased in a leather jacket and standing ram-rod straight.

She considered Raffi with wide, blue eyes, almost ravenous as though taking the sight of Raffi in after nights of having nothing.

Raffi grabbed her own clothes and stepped into the sonic shower. After dressing and finishing another cup of coffee, mostly to enjoy the comfortable silence she shared with Seven, Raffi stepped out of her quarters with Seven in tow.

The Artifact seemed different, its green light less jolting, the hallway wider. It may have something to do with her worry lifting now that Seven walked beside her, close enough to touch. 

The tips of Raffi’s fingers pressed against Seven’s palm and Seven’s hand twitched.

“You have a limp,” Raffi observed.

“Yes. The nanoprobes are struggling with reconstructing a broken femur. They’re nearly there; it’s just taking time.”

Raffi’s eyes widened. “Seven,” she said, this time reaching out for her.

Seeing her concern, Seven allowed Raffi to sidle up to her, to take her hand. The warmth of Seven’s metal-encased fingers made Raffi worry less.

They had somehow managed to sync up their sleep with Collision Lake’s day cycle, and they arrived at the common area outside the Cube just before breakfast. 

Three of _La Sirena_ ’s crew were already seated at a long table, nursing cups of tea and coffee. Agnes and Soji managed to look interested but sceptical as Cris rendered an animated retelling of his days as a Starfleet pilot. Rios revelled in the attention and Raffi, ever the bearer of practicality and realism, took some pleasure in interrupting.

Seven limped to the seat opposite Rios, who clapped then opened his arms in greeting at the sight of the ex-Borg on her feet.

“Aha!” he crowed. “My best pilot!”

“Captain,” Seven greeted as she moved to sit, accommodating her stiff right leg as she edged towards the end of the bench.

Rios took one look at her remaining injury and said, “Oh. No football for you then.”

“Count us out of your nefarious plans, please and thank you,” Raffi said. She pointed to the food being laid out at a separate communal table with her thumb, “Grub, anyone?” There were several hums of agreement. 

To Seven, she said, “You, sit. Tell me what you want.”

“Whatever’s on the menu, and whatever will fit on the plate.”

Rios opened his mouth and Raffi gave him a pointed look, “You, with me.” His jaw closed with a click and he stood to join her with Soji and Agnes.

“Unfair. Why does Seven get first class treatment?”

Agnes ribbed him, watching Raffi carefully. She said, “You know why. Stop teasing.”

“Raffi and Seven sitting on a tree,” Rios sang, “K-I-S-S…”

Raffi made a disgusted noise and Agnes laughed, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I-N-G,” Rios finished, grinning as he put an arm around Raffi. “Happy for you, Raff Raff.”

“Nothing happened, okay.”

“ _Nothing happened, okay_ ,” Rios mimicked. “Oh please. She was dying one moment and after one night in your room, she miraculously walks out and joins us for breakfast. I mean, sure she’s limping and God knows what’s caused _that_ , but wow, she’s _alive._ ”

“He’s got a point,” Soji said, trying to hide her smile by worrying her lip.

“Are you all ganging up on me now?” Raffi said, pushing at Rios’ chest, playful but also annoyed.

Rios was deadpan. “Yes.”

They arrived just as xB’s laid out the rest of the food, Tam at the head of the charge and looking like the cooking had done nothing to alleviate her stress.

“Have fun with the _longsilog_ ,” Tam said, as she pointed at the array of garlic fried rice, salty pork sausage, and crispy, fried eggs. “Breakfast of champions. Good thing too. Rios just set up a field so we could all play football and a few of us put up hands to play.” 

She spared a long-suffering glance at _La Sirena_ ’s captain, who began to complain that this meal was going to block his arteries even as he shoveled several servings onto his plate.

They all stared at the growing structure of fried food in his hands.

“Are you seriously going to run that much?” Soji asked.

Rios bared his teeth. “Watch me.” The succeeding smile was quickly angelic. “Besides, I’m sure some of us here will be having things other than _longsilog_ to eat.” 

He wagged his eyebrows at Raffi and there was a chorus of “Gross!”, Raffi and Agnes hitting him on either shoulder and forcing him to balance his teetering plate of goods.

Seven looked up to investigate the noise just as Elnor joined her at the table.

He was thrilled to see her, quickly depositing his sword against the table, and they could hear his enthusiastic, “You’re better!”

Seven patted his arm to show him she was indeed in a better state and said, “Not quite there yet, but I heard you stuck around for a while. Thanks for being there for me, Elnor.”

“Of course Seven. It’s the least I can do.” They shared a moment of heavy silence, brought back to their ordeal in the queen cell, but the mood quickly lightened when he sat down, joined by the rest of the group. 

Raffi put Seven’s plate in front of her, and the ex-Borg gave her a grateful smile.

There were furtive glances from some of them, and then impish ones, but the table was full of friends and Raffi couldn’t care less as long as she could hear Seven laugh ring out alongside the others’.

* * *

After their meal, the rest of the crew excused themselves to prepare for the game at the makeshift football field. Tam and a flock of xB’s trailed after them.

“Take your time,” Rios called, indicating Seven’s injured leg. “I’ll see you guys there.” He gave Raffi a more mischievous grin, which Raffi rebuffed with yet another hard jab against his arm.

Watching their backs fade behind tents, Raffi commented, “I’m surprised Tam and the xB's haven’t found Bran Lekkie sooner.” Seven made a small noise of inconvenience, unable to hold it back. She pushed the mug of steaming tea away and pulled her arms to her herself. Seeing the motion, Raffi added, “What aren’t you telling me?”

Seven slowed her words as she examined her own motivations, grappled with sympathy for her own kind. “I don’t think Elnor will appreciate that cats tend to play with their food.”

Recognising the allusion, Raffi’s mouth turned down in displeasure. “Right.”

“It isn’t through any fault of theirs,” Seven said, her tone carefully neutral. “The Borg nearly always destroyed more than they assimilated. Being the galaxy’s apex predator appeals to qualities that are easier than restraint.” She reached for Raffi’s hand over the table, stopping less than an inch away, her pinky touching the other woman’s knuckles. “In a world of connection and interdependence, we're very much like children. But they answer to Tam and they _will_ bring him back. Albeit a little toyed with.”

Raffi didn’t hesitate to close the space between their fingers and took Seven’s hand. Seven heaved a sigh of relief. 

Raffi said, “Not perfect after all.” She brought the back of Seven's hand to her lips.

Soft and slightly dry from Coppelius’ desert-like air, Raffi's lips were a distraction and Seven tried not to imagine putting them against hers. “No, far from it. We can be very vindictive.”

Raffi looked at the direction of the football field. “Cris is in for a bit of a surprise then.”

They shared a smile before Raffi helped her up from her seat, supporting Seven with an arm around her waist as she led Seven towards their friends.

Seven continued to stare at the taller woman, still very much in awe of Raffi’s ability to accept her people and in extension, even her. Raffi smiled wider and kissed the side of her lips in a casual show of affection. It made Seven's stomach burst with a crowd of butterflies.

This was a gift, Seven thought, to be shown Raffi's plain and obvious language for care and desired closeness.

Past the tents and through some dense underbrush where xB’s had hacked a trail through, the vegetation opened into a clearing. Thin grass bent into dusty earth as the levelled area stretched towards a vast, dry plain dotted with short, brambly bushes.

Seven and Raffi parked themselves on a fallen log, amused and happy to sit this one out, especially after the last 24 hours they'd just had. They watched Rios as he limbered up at the sidelines, already looking like he was regretting such a big meal, but he rubbed his hands together as Soji, Elnor, Agnes, and a few others gathered in a semi-circle before him. 

“Imagine,” he was saying, raising a stern finger at Picard to stop the older man from his own soliloquy. Jean-luc seemed only a little put off and remained sitting on a fold-away chair with the football tucked under his foot. “The opportunity to teach an entirely new culture about the galaxy’s game.”

Picard tipped his wide-brimmed hat at him and tapped his cane in light approval. “It’s just the Earth’s game, Captain.”

“Ha! Soon it’ll be Coppelius’ game!”

Soji raised a brow. “So much for all those non-interference clauses in the Prime Directive.”

“You wound me!” Rios gasped, clutching his chest. “Tam already knows football.” They all turned to the interim leader of the xB’s and she shrugged in apology, looking like she was already regretting an earlier admission. He turned his attention back to Soji, a challenge in his eyes. “You and me, twenty minutes each half. You get to pick the first member of your team, then I will, and so on until we have seven on each side.”

“I’m aware of 7-aside rules,” Soji told him. “In fact, you’d be at a fairly large disadvantage.”

Rios made a face. “Don’t underestimate me, kid. What I lack in power and speed, I more than make up for in cunning and experience!”

Soji laughed. “Okay, Cris. Don’t blame me if you can’t walk tomorrow.” After a moment’s consideration, she announced, “Tam.” The xB in question strode to her side, grateful.

“Ugh!” Rios said. “Elnor!” 

Elnor seemed all too happy to be called at all, grinning at the sidelines where Picard, Raffi, and Seven gave him identical thumbs-ups.

“Agnes.” Jurati did a fist-pump, a little awkward as she shuffled into a half-dance to stand beside Tam.

“You cheat! You can’t take my best striker!” Rios pointed to a large, hulking xB. “Xavi!”

And so it went until fourteen places were filled and each side faced off against each other on a small field that Rios and a few other xB’s had cleared for the event. Someone had replicated neon-orange cones to delineate the width and length of the field while bright orange ones marked goal posts. They were fitted with simple sensors that fed information to a projection of Mr Hospitality, who appeared beside Picard. 

Dressed in referee attire, he tried to explain, “I love football like any self-respecting Earthman.”

There was a furious discussion about the rules --Rios gesturing with his feet and Soji poking fun at him at every turn --and then Picard surrendered the football. With an air of impatience, Mr Hospitality rolled it towards Rios at the middle of the field. The human captain scooped it up with his foot and then juggled the ball with both feet in an attempt to intimidate the opposing team.

Soji picked up a handful of soil and threw it at him, laughing as he sputtered.

The hologram pulled out a whistle, waving it to indicate that he was ready to start the match. He also gave Soji a pointed warning, “Play clean.”

“This is going to be a disaster,” Picard said, laughing good-naturedly. 

Raffi put an arm around Seven, who simply leaned into her space, grateful for a chance to sit still and watch. 

“Honestly J-L,” Raffi said, “it’ll be the best kind.”

* * *

They were well into the second half. Mr Hospitality looked more than a little impressed at how quickly everyone had picked up the rules, Rios more so, shaking his head every now and again at their surprising aptitude for ball control.

Cristóbal Rios seemed to be thoroughly enjoying a game that involved two of _La Sirena_ ’s crew ganging up on him, including a small, terrifying clique of ex-Borg who were only beginning to understand that football had little to do with purely technical skill and everything to do with the cunning Rios had been harping on about.

The xB’s were playing with less robotic-compliance and more with an intent to win. Tam commanded half the field with her previous, intermediate experience from her time in the Academy, her Borg implants refining her movements. 

Rios was significantly more skilled in the game and in his understanding of the rules. His team was on a 3-to-1 lead, which seemed hard-won to the casual spectator, and the opposing team was slowly gaining on them. Soji, Agnes, and Tam were putting up a pretty impressive fight through sheer will alone.

Raffi was already on her feet, standing on her toes as Agnes attempted a strike --and scored!

“Yes!” she shouted.

“Hey,” Rios accused from where he was doubled over, already winded from chasing after his girlfriend and after his xB opponents, who displayed careless, superhuman endurance. “Whose side are you on?”

Agnes would have gone for a victory lap, patted on the back by a laughing Elnor (who had definitely forgotten his loyalties), but there was a sudden lull in the celebrations as Tam and Soji looked to the ridge just beyond the field.

As if by some secret intimation, a group of xB’s emerged from the trail leading from the wilderness, a man in a Starfleet uniform in their midst, his hands in cuffs. He leaned heavily on his captors, too tired to walk properly. Every person on the field stood at attention and followed their movements, the xB's expressions defaulting to blank-faced stoicism.

Tam was the only xB with visible anger on her twisted mouth, stepping purposefully towards her men. Soji put a hand on her arm, only lightly restraining, and miraculously, Tam opted to stand still.

“Bran Lekkie,” Picard breathed. “They’ve found him.”

* * *

Judging from how her companions could not keep impartiality at the football field or shortly after as they walked to a makeshift interrogation room, Raffi was nominated to question their prisoner. As if on cue, Rios herded Picard, Agnes, and Elnor back into the communal areas, giving Raffi and Coppelius’ leaders the necessary mental space to deal with the current problem.

Now, she stood across Bran Lekkie, unable to keep the regret from her voice, or the deep sadness of knowing that this man’s mistakes would forever affect his life and others’.

Hers had been a slow slog into regret. She had no doubt Bran Lekkie’s had been festering since the Mars attacks of 2385, come to spectacular fruition on a starship he practically grew up on. She could only imagine the depth of his anger, the same one which glazed over his eyes, shining in the middle of large, dark circles, and over sunken cheeks.

“How did you come about the detonator?”

“There are more than a few factions who want synthetic life eliminated.”

“Are you working for the Romulans?”

Bran guffawed, though not nearly as loud as he could, because his mockery ended in a tired cough. “I’m here for justice for the homeless refugees of Sol IV!”

Raffi tried not to flinch. “Does your organisation have a name?”

His answering, sinister sneer gave her the hint she needed. He would have been part of a small, Martian cell, likely embedded in Starfleet and originating from the batch of Martians who entered Starfleet after the Mars attacks.

With a small gesture, Raff instructed her PADD to emphasize this particular part of the conversation. She muttered, “Yet another terrorist group for the Federation to wrangle and yet another one from within.”

“Who’s to say I’m not a lone wolf?”

Raffi clucked her tongue. “To be able to sneak a Romulan weapon onto a Federation starship is no small task. I suspect most of your cell is still on the _Paine_ and if Ridor is as intelligent as I think she is, she would’ve rounded them up by now and put them in the brig.”

To Raffi, he seemed painfully young, ready for an even harder life ahead; murder seemed like the least of his regrets. Her thoughts came back to Gabriel, to the relative peace he found without her and she couldn’t begrudge him that, especially after her long and unexplained absences.

Better to choose one’s fate and live an uneventful, quiet life than to be thrust into one that asked for sacrifice and regret without receiving a modicum of meaning to make it worthwhile...for _years_ . Well, she liked to think she found her purpose as a part of _La Sirena_ ’s crew, vindicated after being proven right about the Tal Shiar’s treachery, but it was still a life without Gabriel, or Pel, or their daughter. She could do her best and never get what she wanted. That stung.

“You could’ve killed the Synth delegation.”

“‘Destroy’ is a better term,” Bran sneered. “You can’t kill something that’s not alive.”

“And what about the Starfleet officers you ‘killed’?” Raffi returned. 

She flicked their faces onto the view screen. One, a middle-aged man of Earth descent, with twinkling brown eyes and a mess of wavy hair. The other, a young ensign in stark yellows, looking for all the world like she had just graduated from the Academy a few weeks before.

Bran swallowed, his throat moving as though choking on regret. “A necessary sacrifice.”

“One that you had no business making for them.”

Bran turned his attention sideways, suddenly unwilling to interact. He ignored her even as she tried to catch his gaze again.

Sighing, she stepped out of the interrogation room, the Cube closing the gap behind her.

Suddenly allowed to drop her mask, she quickly became aware of the Cube’s ambient temperature and the sweat staining the back of her shirt. Bran had certainly worked up her emotions and the Cube’s tropical humidity didn’t help. It felt stifling, bringing to the fore her physical and mental exhaustion.

The Synth and the two ex-Borg watching from the other side of the interrogation room seemed far more comfortable. 

Wiping her brow, Raffi said, “There are some principles you can’t argue with. Not when they aren’t willing to meet you halfway. Or if genocide is their only alternative."

Seven nodded. “Most conflicts stem from some form of fundamentalist thought or another.” She stood with an unaffected air in a leather jack, her arms behind her back.

“He could have ruined everything,” Tam gritted, her fists clenching so tight that her knuckles were white. “Three Synths nearly killed in a vacuum!”

Most xB’s of the Artifact were hard to read, their expressions smoothed into cold impassivity. They stared into the distance as though reconciling their continued separation from the numberless entities of the Cube. 

Tam was a rare specimen, a junior lieutenant from the _USS Tombaugh_ who was assimilated at eighteen years old and strangely, had been left inside a maturation chamber until Hugh retrieved her himself.

Hugh leveraged her previous Starfleet training --recent in that she had been in stasis the whole time --and developed the Borg Reclamation Project with her help and her input. In human years, she was now twenty-three years old, the physical trauma of assimilation largely alleviated by a young and growing human body. 

The mental toll was less apparent, but it was obvious that she benefited a great deal from Hugh’s tutelage. From Raffi’s interactions with her, Tam remained largely untouched by Ramdha’s madness and had been gifted with more of Hugh’s positive traits --his compassion, his general good sense, his intense individuality that nearly maimed the Collective when it tried to assimilate him again, and his tendency to trust anyone who served under Jean-luc Picard.

Her anger, on the other hand, seemed entirely her own. Being around Seven gave Tam Pitto licence to grow into this intensity. Her articulations of joy, anger, even melancholy were obvious in a way that Seven’s emotions were not.

Not once had Seven asked her to hide her emotions: not when she was pleased with cooking meals and sharing it with her friends. Not when the xB away party found Bran and Tam looked like she was ready to beat him into a pulp, and certainly not now, when there was murder in her eyes.

“As the interim leader of the xB’s, the decision is yours,” Seven said.

Raffi could recognise the apprehension in Seven’s voice, even if she seemed reticent to the potential results. It was the same, tight intonation she used on the bridge when she and Raffi were about to do something very foolish and very dangerous, Rios watching with barely controlled horror as he held on to his chair.

“As interim leader of the xB’s, I’m deciding he’s more useful to us alive than dead.”

Seven’s surprise registered as a miniscule lift of an eyebrow, barely moving her optical implant.

“That’ll surprise him. He probably thinks we’re all unthinking machines.” Soji Asha pushed away from her makeshift seat on top of the storage crates. “Federation membership is overrated. We might want to rethink that.”

Raffi rolled her eyes. “Soji...”

“What? It’s true.” She made a wide gesture, her gaze emphatic with an old and familiar chaos. “Out of all the crew, guess who _didn’t_ leave Starfleet.”

Seven’s lips quirked into a surly grin. “She’s right, you know.”

Raffi shot Seven a glare. “Don’t encourage them.”

It was Tam who spoke, her brown eyes flashing, her hands curled over the edges of a nearby metal chair. Raffi pursed her lips into a thin and neutral line as the metal creaked then bent in her fist, careful not to balk at the sheer strength of Tam’s rage. 

Tam ground her words through clenched teeth, thrust from a place of fire and brimstone and into the cold lake of uncompromising logic and utility.

“I want free passage for all xB’s across Federation space,” she began, her shoulders heaving with emotion, “access to the knowledge at the Academy, to dozens of cultures, and acceptance into a collective that will allow us to keep our individuality while enriching our own.”

Soji was suddenly blithe, shedding her role as Devil’s advocate. She said, “Nothing quite like Federation membership then, in that case.” 

Raffi noted that Soji Asha had lost none of her chameleon traits from when they had first met her. She looked entirely amenable to this decision now, but she was watching Tam closely, letting her take the lead despite nearly losing three of her own people in the explosion.

It was a testament to the bonds they had forged without prompting, a commitment to a planet they had only just begun to call home.

Raffi thought she heard Seven sigh in relief.

“I’m from the Academy. I _was_ Starfleet,” Tam said, looking pointedly at Seven. “I wouldn’t have left had there been a choice. Most of the people I admire are from that organisation; I want the same opportunity to be available for anyone else who wants it. That, and the choice to leave if they wish.”

Seven straightened, perhaps reminded of her own decision to apply to Starfleet when she had arrived at the Alpha Quadrant.

It was no secret Seven joined the Federation’s exploratory arm because of Kathryn Janeway’s influence just as it was no surprise Tam got along as well as she did with Seven and most of _La Sirena’s_ crew because knowledge of Starfleet protocol allowed her to interact with them at a high degree of fidelity and understanding.

To want that for the rest of her people when they were lost, identity-less, and treated like the worst of the quadrant’s inhabitants, seemed entirely reasonable.

Tam said, “They will put Bran Lekkie under trial, but not until we have the opportunity to do it on Coppelius’ watch.”

This time, it was Raffi who could barely hide her emotions, a pleased smile blossoming on her face. “Right. So Federation membership first, and then Coppelius hands him over as a sign of good will to seal the deal, with an official delegation in attendance during his hearing.”

“Correct.”

Soji shrugged, but her smile was eager. “I wouldn’t be opposed to attending our first Federation trial as members with a seat at the table and a voice to be heard.”

Raffi nudged Seven in the ribs, good-naturedly. “They grow up fast, don’t they.”

“Well, she certainly knows how to use her anger for an outcome.” It was a glancing, indirect compliment and in Seven’s world, the best kind.

Tam nodded in acknowledgment.

To Raffi, she continued in a cold, unforgiving tone meant for the prisoner on the other side of the glass, “I want Bran Lekkie and those like him to steep in what they have expedited and caused: citizenship for my kind, acknowledgment of our rights as a planet and as a people.” Her eyes shone with the prospect of a dream, not as unreachable as previously thought. “Before long, they’ll look up from their miserable lives and see the newsreels, watching yet another ex-Borg or gods forbid, a Synth, graduate into Starfleet’s ranks.” 

The look on her face turned ferocious and gleeful. “Only then will they know that we had won. There will be no sweeter revenge.”

* * *

Back at Raffi’s quarters, Seven deposited her leather jacket on a chair. With an indication from Raffi, she retrieved two glasses of bourbon from the replicator.

Her leg was only slightly better, but even if a short sleep in a Borg alcove would have solved this problem overnight, she didn’t want to pass on the opportunity to enjoy Raffi’s company. She basked in the heated looks Raffi was inadvertently throwing her way.

Seven said, “I want that first shipment to include a dozen bottles of William Van Winkle.”

Raffi chortled as she reached for the glass of bourbon in Seven’s hand. “That can be arranged into the negotiations, I’m sure.”

“Or you can convince Rios to let go of his trade stash.”

“Or,” Raffi repeated, sipping on her drink, “we can work that into the first shipment from Earth.”

Seven rolled her eyes but her smile was indulgent. “Very well. I’ll hold Tam to it.”

Looking at Seven from beneath her lashes, with her lips on the rim of the glass, Raffi commented, “She takes after you, you know.”

“Nobody taught her the wisdom she just displayed earlier.”

“I’m pretty sure we all did. Encouraged it at one time or another. She's had a steady supply of some very exceptional people. Hugh, Picard, yourself." Raffi took a sip of her bourbon and made a noise of appreciation. “It takes a village.”

"And it took you too, Raffaela Musiker," Seven interjected, taking Raffi's glass from her hand and pulling Raffi towards her as she stood from her chair.

Seven tilted her head in that inquiring way, only a little hesitant, but determination seeped into the sinews of her arms as she held Raffi’s hand and led her by the elbow.

“Seven,” Raffi said, her voice hoarse.

Seven watched the muscles against her neck move in a nervous swallow. Raffi stood nearly a head taller but she always made the concession to dip into Seven’s space. Seven could hear her heart thunder in her ears, a rushing tide of emotion, then Raffi took her lips and they were kissing.

They had gone through a long and difficult ordeal, herding so many of Seven’s brethren past the jaws of prejudice and hatred. Now, in this moment of quiet, their kiss was much slower. With her eidetic memory, Seven retained every detail; she enfolded taste, sensations, scents, and the feast her eyes consumed into the parcelled boxes of her mind so she could retrieve this freedom and peace at will.

She felt the bones against her ribs creak, unused to her chest opening, all in spite of the trauma from Icheb’s death which had forced it closed. The deeply gouged betrayal by Bjayzl. Starfleet’s slow collapse into hateful, discordant policy, which resulted in her resignation.

Seven felt it open to the torrent of emotion --lust, and overpowering affection --as she watched Raffi strip out of her shirt and pants, laying them at the foot of the bed, and then shuffling backwards to make space for her. She wore standard issue underwear, but as Raffi lounged, her long limbs graceful and her stomach lean, Seven felt as though she was kneeling at the temple of a goddess --Artemis, perhaps, or Athena, or both; presiders of wisdom, war, and moonlit-beauty.

Her admiration of Raffi usually left her speechless. The way she handled the negotiations with grace and unparalleled wit --fighting with a ferocity for the ex-Borg that rivalled even Picard or her own efforts. For all the tired lines across her forehead or the sadness which haunted her after Freecloud, Raffi was immensely generous to her friends. Her laughter and her kindness were beacons that Seven sought in moments of darkness.

“Hey, eyes over here,” Raffi coaxed, her voice as warm as it ever was whenever Seven opened her eyes to a vision of her.

Between following Raffi into the sheets, and two or three fortifying breaths, they were kissing again.

They had both gradually come to a place where touching each other had become a statement, bold and sure. Seven liked to think it had everything to do with finding a measure of peace, one that she could finally extend to this extraordinary woman before her. 

Raffi was a gentle kisser, but the demand was there when she opened her mouth and Seven sucked on her tongue. Raffi returned the favour and Seven felt her eyes erupt with figurative fireworks; she took a moment to query her optical implant.

Raffi hovered an inch from her to smile, all-knowing. “You okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just, this isn’t something I’ve done in a while.”

“Sleeping with a beautiful woman?” Raffi waggled her eyebrows, laughing. “Or?”

“Sleeping with someone I care very much about.”

“Oh.” The other woman put her arms around Seven’s neck, insistent fingers curling into the back of Seven’s head. “You say all the right things.”

“They’re all true.”

Raffi pursed her lips in amusement. “I don’t doubt it.” Tugging a little more insistently, she said, “Now, why don’t you show me.”

Seven put her mouth on Raffi’s, not so much to devour as to taste, even if the yearning clawed sharply in her stomach. She pressed insistent lips against Raffi’s, sliding her hands over the warm skin of her stomach, which was already exposed to Seven’s touch.

Raffi on the tongue was smooth honey, thick and heady with flavours that could have easily overwhelmed, but she was tender, generous, and open --traits that Seven’s previous lovers didn’t always have.

Seven was careful not to demand too much. She was gentle as she opened her mouth, hoping for a more thorough sampling of Raffi’s allure, but it only served to stoke a flame. Raffi breathed more harshly, her hands roaming as their bodies became more intertwined, and their exploration became frantic. 

For a moment, as Raffi nudged Seven’s jaw up with her nose and found her neck with her lips, Seven’s world tumbled into a tropical rainforest --hot, humid, and heavily wooded. How Raffi took her to places even beyond her current world --Coppelius, Collision Lake, _La Sirena_ or the Artifact --she didn’t know, but Seven was near-delirious with the scent and feel of her, a planet of firsts. 

Her fingers trembled over Raffi’s cotton panties, traveling to the juncture of her thighs and then discovering wet heat that made her forehead drop on Raffi’s shoulders.

“Your clothes,” Raffi breathed, straining as she pressed against Seven’s hand. “Take them off. I want to feel you.”

Seven fought through the haze to look into Raffi’s dark eyes, taken aback by the lust roiling there, and then by her growing impatience as Seven continued to touch her through the moist fabric covering her sex.

“Baby,” Raffi insisted, “I want you. Now.”

The term of endearment pushed Seven into motion. Bracketing Raffi’s hips, she pulled at the hem of her shirt, stretched it over her head, and threw it to the side. She did the same for her bra, and she took note of Raffi’s eyes widening as more skin was exposed. Raffi made a move to touch the curve of her breasts, entranced, but Seven swatted her away. 

She hadn’t realised it until now, but vulnerability was her default with Raffi Musiker. It didn’t feel jarring to bare herself like this when so many of her emotions had been laid out in the last few days for Raffi to ponder. Not once had the other woman breached her trust, or asked for more than she could give, and it was refreshingly comfortable. Easy. Galvanising. It left her space to broaden in other ways, to breach into the unknown; she could build tenacity and daring from knowing that Raffi had her back no matter what.

Seven could feel tears prickle against her eyes. How naive had she been to think that love was supposed to be painful? A sacrifice that had left her a husk, the ghost of a woman she wanted to be while her son suffered in her arms, begging to die?

She surged downwards into Raffi’s space, kissing her with calm intensity and the fury of feeling, strengthened by this supreme confidence that Raffi had given her, and which she could only hope to give in return.

Raffi came willingly, putting a little space between them so she could remove the rest of her underwear before demanding, “You too,” indicating Seven’s remaining undergarments.

How could Seven refuse this woman anything? 

She obeyed.

From there, they didn’t need much urging.

They fell into each other, autumn leaves dancing in sync as they sought firm ground. Seven curled into Raffi's affection, and the pattern their hands followed down their bodies eventually ended in both of them gasping, their fingers covered in slick.

Seven concentrated on giving Raffi pleasure, sliding a tip into her as the taller woman gasped at the welcome intrusion. In return, Raffi's fingers began a slow, deliberate courtship that pressed and circled Seven’s clit.

Hot breaths buffeted against each other's shoulders, necks, and sweating clavicles. They lay flush against each other as they urged their hips forwards and back.

There was very little warning but Raffi uttered a choked, "Seven, make me come."

Seven hummed and trapped her engorged clit between a middle and forefinger, sluicing around it, before pressing those fingers into tight, welcoming heat.

"Oh!" Raffi cried, surging up into Seven's fingers and riding them as she paused in her own ministrations to clutch at Seven's shoulders.

Seven watched her, Raffi's mouth open in silent supplication for more, eyes squeezed tight, before the sight of her became too overwhelming. She licked Raffi's chest, dipped to pull a nipple into her mouth. She sucked, a tongue playing against its tip until she felt Raffi tighten with purpose around her.

"Seven!" Raffi cried as her walls gripped tightly around Seven in that first instance, the pressure built to a point that seemed to consume them both.

"Raffi." Seven pressed soothing kisses against her shoulder and urged, "That's it. Just let go."

For a moment, Seven felt suspended between motion and a result, then the tension broke completely like wires snapping in succession, whipping out with gratification after minutes of having been tightly wound into knots. Around her fingers, Raffi pulsed wildly as Seven continued to draw pleasure from her with purposeful, measured thrusts.

Seven, breathless with awe, pulled Raffi more tightly against her, enjoyed the gentle ebb and flow around her fingers. It took a few minutes but eventually, Raffi insisted, “Stay inside, please.” 

Seven remained still until Raffi’s breathing slowed.

Seven could feel Raffi swallow, trying to form words, her long fingers threading into Seven’s damp, blonde hair, gentle but resolute with something she was yet to say. 

Seven’s stomach clenched unpleasantly as she pulled out from Raffi’s heat. She had been on casual hook-ups before but she rarely engaged in them unless the pull of attraction and her own incalculable needs as a Ranger justified a closer look. Raffi must have felt her stiffen because the other woman kissed the sinews of her neck soothingly and massaged the base of her head.

“I may...” Raffi swallowed and her voice became even softer, tempered by shyness and certainty, “I want this again. More times than I have a right to.”

Relieved, Seven let out a wet laugh, and Raffi pulled away slightly, enough so she could look into Seven’s eyes and show her that she was being honest.

“I’m not taking this lightly,” Raffi said. “I never was.”

“You didn’t have to represent the xB’s in the Coppelius-Federation treaty to show me that you cared,” Seven teased, fondness colouring her voice. “You could’ve just asked me out.”

Raffi considered this. “Yeah I could have, but Tam’s approval was half the battle.”

“Ever the tactician, Raffi Musiker,” Seven admonished and she couldn’t help from capturing Raffi’s lips in a kiss.

She settled beside Raffi, momentarily exhausted and not from the physical exertion. Even after all these years, the most draining thing about being human was reconciling her emotions with logic and her Borg impassivity. Her past lovers seemed to find it amusing to hold tension like a sword over Seven's head --to teach her a lesson, to test her, to stamp ownership, dominate, or appease an ego. Some people were intent on changing her so she could more easily fit in, friends and colleagues who meant well. She had conformed, mostly, but with Raffi, she didn't need to.

Raffi evoked none of those contradictions. Seven's feelings for her were constant and sure, a deep and calm river, and Raffi had no problems returning them in kind. There was very little thinking involved, less rationalisation on why she liked Raffi so much. Raffi just made her feel safe. 

In a small but meaningful surrender, she let the taller woman lie half on top of her. Raffi traced her skin, over Borg starbursts and human goose flesh, as though etching an image of Seven in her mind that was complete and replete with her identity. Infused with a rare peace, Seven breathed deeply, the musk of their lovemaking a long and resounding note, and Raffi’s woody scent a constant reminder of her gentle acceptance, her strong fervour, even if the entire quadrant knew Seven of Nine was Borg and hated her for it.

In a whisper --because it felt as though this was one more thing the galaxy could take away if she spoke it out loud --Seven admitted, “You make me happy, and I haven’t been happy in a long time.”

“Good,” Raffi said, before looking up at her with mischief in her eyes.”You ready for round two?”

Suddenly aware that her thighs were sticky-hot with her own arousal, Seven tightened her arms around the other woman.

No more words were needed after that.

* * *

TBC


	6. A Ripple With No End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone reaps what they sow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'ed, all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Once again, thank you very much to leilansdream for the story cover. Credit to Syfinity for the original manip.

Cover by [leilansdream](https://leilansdream.tumblr.com/)

[Original manip](https://www.instagram.com/p/B_D4rQmpgoS/) by [Syfynity](https://www.instagram.com/syfynity/)

* * *

Sitting at her desk with an open channel to the _USS Thomas Paine_ , Raffi scrolled through the new terms. 

She ran her eyes over a clause about the Disordered Ward, and the plan to repatriate Romulan xB's on the Artifact.

The crew assimilated from the _Shaenor_ were decidedly worse off than most of the other xB’s, their minds blended into a soup that could not tell time or express their desires. Seven suspected that it had everything to do with their proximity to Ramdha during assimilation --recipients of undiluted, corrupt code that jumped the Cube’s nodes without any sort of barrier.

As the most vulnerable of the xB’s and only a few of them being able to voice their assent, Tam wanted to repatriate only those with immediate family in the Romulan Free State, to Romulans who wanted to take their injured kin and care for them properly. Otherwise, she preferred that all xB’s relied on Federation and Coppelius-developed medicine for remediation.

Again, Raffi smiled at Tam’s growth. Despite her seething dislike of Bran’s actions and the Federation-bred anti-Synth ideology which had yet to die out in many of the Federation’s institutions, Tam had an impressive handle on her reasoning, something Raffi admitted she had so little of at a similar age.

Tam Pitto had authored an entire chapter at Raffi’s advice, which included the immediate ratification of conventions and covenants relating to their rights: economic, social, cultural, political, and civil. It demanded the elimination of all types of Synth and xB discrimination. Lastly, it stipulated the removal of any statutory limitations for crimes committed against their kind across all Federation member worlds.

It could close Coppelius off with immediate protections from nearby Starfleet starships in the event of unwarranted, unlawful activity. It also meant that Coppelius had full voting rights in any Federation assembly as a member planet. If the delegation wished, they could leave for Earth and start authoring policy _today_.

All this, by leveraging the Federation’s desperate bid for self-preservation against its Borg and Romulan enemies, and in sectors where their influence continued to fade.

Free trade was merely a vehicle; what Coppelius gained in return was priceless.

Raffi couldn’t help a self-satisfied smirk.

On the screen to Raffi’s left, Axi Ridor lifted her head from her reading, her brows meeting in a frown.

_"You drive a hard bargain, Musiker."_

"Someone ought to. They deserve the galaxy's best, just like anyone.” Raffi left the venom in her tone, “And a few basic rights are hardly a bargain, Captain Ridor."

Axi Ridor considered her for several, long minutes before she finally stood from her chair in what Raffi suspected was her ready room.

_"I don't ever recall being manhandled quite this way before,"_ Axi mused.

“If the member worlds refuse, we have a much larger problem than the Federation’s next exchange of Borg and Synth technology and intelligence.” Raffi put her PADD down, leaning towards the screen to bring across a point. “A moral problem. It’s already festered in a few individuals.”

Axi blanched. _“You make a good point, Musiker.”_

Schooling her expression into one of calm agreement, Axi opened a cabinet and poured herself a dark, amber liquid. She raised her glass in a good-natured salute, despite the strain of a few large promises she had to convey to her superiors pressing lines into a quickly aging forehead.

_"Congratulations on Federation membership, and the promise of our best medical and technical expertise under the Coppelius-Federation treaty. Oh, and let’s not forget, equality, justice, and the necessary protections under the conventions you all so skillfully stipulated."_

Raffi let go of a breath she hadn’t known she was holding in. She lifted her own glass of water as she said, "In return, Bran Lekkie will be delivered to Earth on the _USS Vega_ with the Coppelius representatives. Also,” Raffi smiled sweetly, “we can't wait for the Coppelius Research Centre to be built, or for Altan and Tam to co-chair as Federation citizens.”

Axi took a sip of her drink, chuckling. _"I don’t know how to feel about working with a bunch of ex-Starfleet with such audacious hero complexes,”_ she admitted. _“I may be here on a semi-permanent assignment after the_ Paine’s _repairs. For patrol and escort duty."_

“It shouldn’t be too bad.”

_“No, certainly not.”_ She leaned forward to consider Raffi a little more closely. _“When all this is over, I wouldn’t mind buying you a drink, Raffaela Musiker.”_

Raffi hid her brief confusion in a smile, trying to determine if she understood Axi’s intentions correctly, and then recalled the spread of beautiful blonde hair on her pillow this morning. She pursed her lips, readying a reply. She’d had her share of Starfleet captains in her bed but right this moment, and really for the foreseeable future, she couldn’t think of anyone else but Seven of Nine occupying that space.

“For a little friendly chat, sure.”

They stared at each other for a long moment before Axi bowed, acknowledging Raffi’s subtle refusal. _“And here I thought I’d try.”_

“I’m flattered, Axi, I am. Thank you. But there’s someone else.”

_“Cheers to the lucky fellow then.”_

“I’ll send her your regards.”

_“Only if she doesn’t send the wrath of the Rangers on me, certainly.”_

Again, Raffi was impressed by Axi Ridor’s powers of deduction. It was one more reason why Raffi knew that for all of Axi’s misgivings about getting the purported ‘short end of the stick’, the long term benefit of a Borg Cube under Federation jurisdiction was still worth a lifetime --and more --of concessions.

“I’d be more than happy for you to share a toast with the rest of us, ex-Starfleet misfits. I’m sure you’d appreciate the company.”

_“Don’t tempt me,”_ Axi joked before raising a friendly hand in farewell. _“It’s been a pleasure, Musiker. The Federation is keen to formalize all this very soon. I’m looking forward to finally setting foot on Coppelius.”_

“See you then, Captain.”

_“And you, Lieutenant Commander. Axi out.”_

The transmission ended. As if on cue, the hundred eighty-three signatories of the United Federation of Planets began to appear on the treaty projected on her screen, seared in gold lettering, both in Federation Standard and in the members’ native scripts. In real-time, the Coppelius side of the screen began to populate.

Maybe she was imagining it, but she could hear the faint hum of jubilation in her head as her heart expanded even more. For the first time in a long time, Raffi’s entire being felt satisfyingly full.

* * *

At near to noon, the heat was balmy like the ambient temperature of a Borg alcove. Seven, stripped to her tank top and standard-issue cotton pants, anticipated Elnor’s impulsive lunge, using his momentum to trip him then swing his body into a tight choke hold.

Using her Borg strength, she tightened her grip and didn’t let go until he slapped her thigh and rushed out of her embrace.

“How do you get me every time?” he complained, massaging his neck and coughing.

“Not many people will see it but your dominant foot ticks slightly in the opposite direction before you’re about to move.”

Elnor let out a frustrated sigh before putting his hands up in mock surrender and going for one of the bottles of water they had parked in the shade of a rock. 

He drank while she glanced at the Artifact and judged its relation to the sun. Soon, it would be past the sun’s high point in the sky. She was looking forward to the 5-kilometre run back and whatever culinary surprise Tam had in store, knowing that the younger woman always managed to cook something new when under duress.

The atmosphere at the Artifact was tense, everyone waiting for word on what the Federation would accept. Instead of impinging on Raffi’s space in their quarters, and knowing also that she wouldn’t be able to influence the outcome at this late stage, she tempted Elnor with the promise to teach him some advanced and useful fighting techniques that she had learned as a Ranger.

He agreed, always eager to be in her company, an inclination that she still couldn’t understand.

Elnor’s training with the Qowat Milat stunned her to a stalemate or to outright defeat, often enough that she preferred him as a sparring partner. But his perfect technique didn’t always account for an opponent’s cunning. 

Right now, he seemed deep in thought. She already knew that after a few more tries, she would probably have to change her strategy to get past his defense.

He was a fast learner, and one of the best fighters she knew. If not for the implants which allowed her to anticipate with superhuman cognition, to react with frightening speed and strength, Elnor could easily defeat her.

She joined him under the shade of a tall, red-coloured bush, sitting on a rock and drinking from her own container.

She commented, “I can imagine sparring with me frustrates you more than it amuses.”

Elnor’s studious frown turned into a bright smile. “Oh no! I want to be more like you and I learn so much from you.” He took another drink, using the pause to contemplate before saying, “Do you know how?”

“How what, Elnor?”

“How I can be more like you.”

Seven gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I highly doubt you’d like to follow in my footsteps.”

Elnor gave her a confused look. “Why not?” he told her, indignant. “I’m sure I do.”

Seven shook her head, her arms over her knees as she held her palms face up, more flesh at this angle than Borg tritanium. She was close to wringing them. She was sure that anyone who used the template of her life was bound for disappointment.

“Look, I can’t really speak for my earlier experiences but after playing at being human for so long, I can tell you that the friends and family who stick around and prove themselves are the ones you need to keep close. They’ll pull you from whatever hole you find yourself in --despair, the tar pits of Egon-Ross, a ship in pieces.” She gave him a pointed look, her thoughts going to one of her oldest and staunchest friends, Naomi Wildman. “A Borg Cube or another.”

“Is it so hard to be human?” Elnor asked. He looked at his own hands to mirror her movements, turning over his fingers to stare at the painted nails of his upbringing. “I think being Romulan is hard for me, too.”

“How about being Qowat Milat?”

“Not so much. But trying to fit in at Vashti was...” he breathed deeply, “not pleasant at all.”

Seven hummed her understanding. “I know what you mean.” She nudged him gently closer and he moved so she could whisper to him sagely, “I _can_ tell you what being with Raffi has reminded me of.”

Elnor’s eyes lit up with enthusiastic approval. “Oh, she’s great.”

Seven nearly laughed with sympathy. “I know, which is why I listen and watch. Very few people make me want to try at being more like a person the way she does.”

“So...” Elnor prompted, waiting patiently.

For a moment, Seven wished for a glass of bourbon to help her open her chest because it felt crowded with a dozen, nameless emotions. Again, this was the burden of her humanity. Luckily, she could recognize the deep fissures they came from: her individual attachments to _Voyager_ ’s crew, the painful affinity she shared with Kathryn, violently severed bonds to Icheb, the craggly acquaintance with her Ranger friends, and the more recent, solidified relationships to _La Sirena_ ’s crew.

“Our connections enrich us,” she began, this time opening her palms as though to cradle these thoughts, which were precious. In the face of great misery, they were also disadvantageously fleeting. Elnor continued to watch her, thoughtful and curious like a child eager to learn his first lesson. “I’d like to be at my deathbed, surrounded by people I love. To be able to say that I was able to make a difference in people’s lives and that they've made an impression in mine, than to die miserable and alone.”

“Isn’t that the goal for any life that’s well-lived?”

“Then you’ve learned this important thing much sooner than I did." She let go of a big breath, expunging every bit of good left in her so Elnor could hear. "May you live long, Elnor,” she said, soft and begging, reciting the old, Vulcan greeting like a prayer, “And may you prosper, far more than I ever have.”

Elnor watched her expression, perhaps seeing the thin veil of regrets, pain, and guilt which miraculously seemed to lift at the mention of her friends. He must have also recognised the greeting because his eyes widened. After all, approximations of the greeting in Romulan culture existed --Vulcan and Romulus shared a common ancestry.

He became very solemn and repeated the sentiment in the terse language of his people, _"Live long and prosper."_

It was a testament to Elnor's worship of Picard and his boundless regard for Seven that he could quietly accept this form of giving, even if the words were owned by an old enemy, tied to deep-seated Romulan anger and resentment. 

Seven knew at that moment that given the opportunity, he would surpass them all.

After a long moment of sharing a more relaxed camaraderie, he patted her knee and reassured, “And I will do what you ask, Seven. Don’t worry.”

“Good to hear,” she said, feeling redemption like the slowly warming light of a rising sun. “And you fucking better, Elnor, or so help me, you won’t need a Fenris chip to call me to your side.”

He laughed, reciprocating with his arm around her, just as she felt a smile grow on her face at the welcome contact.

* * *

It was the first official visit to Collision Lake by Coppelius station and its representatives. There were formalities during the day such as exchange of personnel and the organisation of a planet-wide skeleton government. As the sun set, xB's began to prepare for a more informal gathering where Synths and xB's could bond over their new and shared place in the quadrant.

Altan Inigo Soong shuffled eagerly towards the tables laden with food while golden-eyed Synths gravitated towards the central bonfire. Driven by an innate desire, they clasped at each other's hands, dancing. They enticed any ex-Borg who ventured near to do the same.

Many xB’s had already been exposed to the colourful crew of _La Sirena_ and they gathered outside the Artifact to greet their neighbours. They managed to converse without guile and a little expression.

The Synths didn't seem to mind; neither society had been exposed to the rest of the galaxy for too long. New customs were only just beginning to ripen, and they were at the cusp of a larger sense of community.

The crew members of _La Sirena_ were dotted across the gathering, with Seven only just arriving from an afternoon run. She perched a few metres away from the festivities, at an elevated outcropping that gave her a view of the bonfire and the revellers. She caught sight of Cristóbal Rios, who seemed eager to join the dancers, cajoling a laughing Agnes with one hand while pulling Elnor. An enthusiastic Synth showed them a few of their flowing, hypnotic steps, and the crew joined in, their hands clasped.

Then her eyes fell on Raffi, who sat by the fire, looking like she had been observing Seven the whole time, and Seven felt her cheeks warm. Catching Seven’s gaze, Raffi smiled coyly at her before crooking her finger in a come-hither motion that nearly made Seven stand up and gallop over.

But Tam came fully into view between them, waving apologetically before joining Seven at her perch, her shorter legs hanging from the outcropping.

Raffi smiled indulgently before fetching Jean-luc from his chair and pulling him into the celebrations instead.

The silence between them felt heavy with something unborn --unseen, moving, and alive. Seven was used to people’s silences, never discomfited even if the other party waited for an initial reaction. Tam shared the unmoving air between them for long minutes, as comfortable as Seven was in unassumed non-conversation.

After what seemed like a longer amount of time than she had intended, Tam passed Seven a small plate with three different desserts. There was a colourful rice cake in three, sticky colours of orange, violet, and off-white. The second was also sticky but tube-like, brown sauce poured over it, which smelled of muscovado sugar. The third was suspiciously yellow --a cheese-topped dessert made of a root crop that had been grated and cooked. It was as rich as it looked.

Seven raised an inquiring brow. "And what are these?"

" _Sapin-sapin_ , _suman_ , and cassava cake. Vestiges of my childhood wrestled from Federation archives now that we have access." Her frown deepened as she stared intently at the scene of dancing Synths and stiff but eager xB's. "I've clung to comforting memories and rituals, to my human side so I can make sense of this new life. I try to share what I can.”

Seven took a bite of each. "Mango," she commented. " _Ube_ , a violet taro variety. Rice and coconut."

Tam smiled widely. "Not exactly native to these parts but we've found some edible root crops to make something similar to the cake. And we'll likely grow a strain of rice that doesn't need too much water locally, too." She looked up at the sky, tracking the _Paine_ 's movement as it shimmered along a predetermined line. "I'm looking forward to the shipment of nuts, seeds, and plants --the ones that pass Coppelius’ strict biodiversity rules."

Seven couldn’t help the admiration from her voice, "You're growing your own food instead of synthesizing them."

"There's enough space in the Artifact to put up enough hydroponic bays. We need to start using our hands and feet. It might help get the others out of their shells."

Seven’s smile was unbidden, proud. Remembering an earlier intention, Seven reached into her pocket and pulled out a transparent chip, gesturing for Tam to take it.

Tam took it, brought it up to the light, chuckled, then set it on her knee. She said, “I hope you aren’t in the habit of giving these out to just anyone.”

Seven’s eyes flickered in the distant firelight, focused on the small group of people dancing and laughing. _La Sirena_ communicators pinned to shirts and jackets shimmered as they moved. “I’ve given away more in the last few weeks than I have during my entire time with the Rangers.”

“That’s a good thing?” Tam asked, sceptical, although there was a hint of smugness in her expression. “You have more to lose now.”

She raised her brows in silent assent. “Sure, but I also have more people on my corner who can’t stand to see me lose any more.”

Tam’s smile was suspiciously knowing. “If that’s what it means to be human...” She reached into her own pocket and opened her palm. On it was a black, coiled device, shaped almost like a cowshell with a glowing green centre. 

Seven felt her throat tighten. She knew what it was, but asked anyway, “What is it for?”

“You have us, too, Seven,” Tam said, stretching her hand outward to implore that Seven take it.

Seven shook her head. “I don’t...understand.”

“We won’t have starships for a few years,” Tam explained, “but we will answer your call in any way we can. Anywhere, anytime, in whatever situation you find yourself in. That is our promise to you as your people.” Tam’s face was tight with solemnity, with the far-reaching ramifications of her words. “As your...family.”

Seven’s felt her throat close up. Her hands trembled as she took the device. “This uses the transwarp conduits,” she whispered with reverence. “No delay, no interference.”

“Anytime, anywhere, in whatever dimension or singularity,” Tam repeated.

“And you made this?” Seven accused, turning it over and watching as its black, unfathomable colours furled in and out of the darkness, anchored only by the green light in its middle.

Tam laughed, patting Seven’s leg with light admonition. “We all did with our combined minds over a few days. We knew we didn’t want you to go into the galaxy alone. Our people have suffered enough.” Sobering after a moment, she continued, “It’s a small gift compared to what _La Sirena_ has arranged with these negotiations and we can’t guarantee an armada, only a few of us through the transporters of the queen cell.” She grinned. “For now.”

“You’ll have a Federation starbase up there in less than a year,” Seven said, certain.

“Maybe.” Tam twiddled her fingers. “And enough technology to build a vessel that can rival a Federation starship. Or any starship.”

Inexplicably, Seven knew where Tam’s mind had gone. Reflected in her eyes were memories of Soji’s temptation, a preemptive strike that would have secured their survival. But it would have endangered everyone else’s. Even as a young world, Coppelius had to cultivate far more wisdom than its neighbours. Unrestrained power, like the one synthetic life could wield, was easily transformed into tyranny. 

The Federation was the lesser of many evils. The inherent autonomy stressed in the treaty was not unique for Federation member worlds but Coppelius' emphasis on control and oversight over technology was unprecedented. It was in preparation for the knowledge that the Federation would eventually appropriate for its own ends.

Seven sighed her relief into the space between them, “I’m very proud of you Tam, everything that you are and what you have achieved.”

Tam’s head cocked to the side, a mirror of Seven’s habits. 

“I’m a product of _La Sirena_ ...” Tam paused, looking at the night sky before retracing her words with a careful addition, “and a product of you, just as you are of _Voyager_. I want you to continue to be proud of me.”

Seven blinked, the cavity around her heart roiling with emotion.

Seven nearly put a hand to her chest, the feeling of uncontrollable affection threatening to burst through. How many more of these conversations could she have without being completely dismantled? She remembered an earlier dialogue with Elnor, and couldn’t help but try and remember if this was what it was like to impart a part of yourself to your children. Her only other experience had been rudimentary with Mezoti, Azan and Rebi. It had been only a little more involved with Icheb.

Tam was grave as she gestured at the device. “I’ll always hold some version of you, Seven. A First, if you will, from a figurative maturation chamber."

Seven touched the moisture against her own cheek before she knew that she had started to weep. Icheb had been Second in the Cube he had matured in, and even if Borg designations were remnants of her past, Icheb was technically First in hers.

Tam had spared her the admission, but the younger woman was now as much a First or Second or Third of Seven’s odd yet welcome adjunct to a unimatrix called _La Sirena._

Seven closed her palms over the xB device, and gratefully put it in her pocket, the connection to Coppelius as immediately taut to those in the vessel she currently served in.

* * *

Three figures shimmered into being a few kilometres from the Artifact, at the same coordinates Agnes had beamed Raffi and Seven that first time. Again, the threat of electrical storms had prompted the change in plans but Axi Ridor, her security officer, and a minor lieutenant seemed unaffected by the sudden heat of a Coppelius noon-day sun.

“Ms Musiker,” Axi greeted, her orange eyes bright with pleasure.

Raffi extended a hand, which Axi took. Seven gave her a terse smile as she accepted the same greeting. Soji and Tam were just as serene as they accepted Federation representatives in their territory. 

It took a few minutes to introduce everyone before they started walking towards camp.

“We could have taken a shuttle,” Axi explained, “but you can understand we’re a bit short on resources at the moment.”

“Isn’t the _Vega_ due to arrive soon?” Tam asked.

“Three days can be a lifetime when you have a gaping hole in Decks 6 and 7,” Axi said, keeping her face carefully neutral despite the strain in her voice.

“We can lend you some of our personnel to help,” Tam said.

“Ah, it’s a bit, shall we say, _strained_ on the ship,” she gave her security officer a cursory glance filled with meaning, and the human woman in Starfleet yellows offered a tight smile of acknowledgment. 

Axi continued, “A home-grown terrorist cell on the _Paine_ makes me worry about the safety of any synthetic life aboard.” She sounded apologetic. “Inasmuch as we have changed policy, it’s quite different to change the tide of opinion overnight. We’ll need to vet our crew against more stringent standards as soon as we arrive at a star base.”

Soji’s mischievous grin was unhelpful. “The good captain is saying she still has bigots on board a Federation starship.”

The Starfleet security officer coughed, the minor lieutenant’s eyes bugged out. Tam nudged Soji with an elbow, grinning. Seven stopped herself from saying anything while Raffi squeezed her eyes shut in silent recrimination. If the treaty hadn’t already been signed, these children would have given Raffi an aneurysm.

Axi remained diplomatic with an apologetic but cursory, “Precisely that, Ms Asha.”

The silence wasn’t as long or uncomfortable as Raffi expected it to be. Despite the subtle undercurrent of hostility from their Synth companion, Captain Ridor began a casual conversation about the Artifact and Coppelius Station, carefully weaving in her own experiences. She used them to draw a comparison with her companion’s experiences, calibrating her assumptions and understanding. It was refreshing to see.

Soon, Tam and Soji were engaging in tentative conversation with the captain, and Raffi couldn’t help but notice Seven’s admiring gaze.

Seven and Raffi watched as the trio continued their dialogue more openly, walking ahead at a faster gait as though unable to suppress their excitement.

“A Starfleet captain for a reason,” Seven commented to Raffi, quietly enough that only she could hear.

Raffi breathed through clenched teeth, a little hesitant to admit, “I’m starting to believe Riker had a hand in picking her to run this mission.”

“I don’t doubt it either. He probably ran a profile to determine what personality type would suit the negotiations best. Starfleet still has our psychological profiles in their database, a record of all our past decisions, our preferences, behavioural tags. It wouldn’t be hard for them to run any of it through simulations and learning algorithms.”

“A bit scary, don’t you think? That Starfleet could read our minds, more or less.”

“I’m not too worried,” Seven admitted. “Tam and Soji can outwit any machine. Any profiling already done on them can be turned on its head. They’re as knowledgeable as the actual creators of the algorithms.”

Raffi chuckled, comforted somewhat. “They’re going to outpace us pretty quickly.”

Seven smiled. “That’s the point, I think,” she said, glancing at Raffi with the warmth of a thousand suns. “The greatest hope for our children is that they’ll be better than we ever could be.”

* * *

Axi Ridor stared at the Artifact for what seemed like an age, admiring its sheer size. Tam tapped her shoulder to urge her to keep moving towards the entrance. Axi blinked and let herself be led inside the Cube.

They arrived at a casual setting, a round table put together to seat 18 people. This time, they were joined by other xB’s appointed by Tam to represent the collective as well as Altan and his own people. Once seated, they were served rice and coconut-based snacks and a sweet drink from a rare citrus fruit that was smaller and more potent than a lemon. 

Seven could hear Axi mumble appreciatively, “I’ve only ever tasted something similar on Earth. This is delicious.”

From beside the Starfleet Captain, Tam tilted her head in acknowledgment. “Some of us remember Earth. And many other places from the forced diaspora into our collective.”

After their guests ate and stories were exchanged, Altan prompted, “So what has precipitated this visit, Captain Ridor?”

The room quieted down and Axi wiped her mouth. “As you well know, the _USS Vega_ is arriving in a few days. The Federation extends its formal invitation to transport Coppelius’ representatives to Earth for its first Federation assembly. And also,” she licked her lips, “for your people to witness Bran Lekkie’s trial first-hand, as promised. We’re here to help with any preparation or questions for the impending visit.”

A murmur rose from the table. Axi wasn’t finished, raising a hand to ask for silence. “We also invite _La Sirena_ and her crew to join us on special invitation by Commander Riker.”

Seated outside of the round table, shoulder to shoulder as they watched the proceedings, Seven and Raffi exchanged a look. “Told you,” Raffi whispered, her eyes bright and laughing. They looked over to where Rios held a contemplative frown. “Is he eager or just conflicted?” Raffi asked.

“Conflicted, more like,” Seven said before she caught Picard’s gaze. The older man pursed his lips and gave her a small nod, something akin to acquiescence. “If Picard has his way, we’d accept the invitation.”

“No doubt,” Raffi said, shuffling closer to put a head on Seven’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind a few days on a vineyard. And,” she sounded choked up, “Earth was home for a while, as I’m sure it was for you, too.”

“Indeed.” Seven kissed Raffi’s forehead, her heart only a little conflicted at the prospect of visiting Earth and of being in close proximity to people she had left behind.

* * *

It had been a few weeks since Axi Ridor’s invitation to visit Earth. Unable to refuse the sheer weight of opinion by more than half his crew, Cristóbal Rios set a course alongside the _USS Vega,_ ferrying not just his crew but a few more Synths and xB’s who were a part of the Coppelius delegation. 

It was the middle of the night now, the excitement dying down after a few days in deep space. The crew had retired for the evening, their guests resting and quiet in repurposed storage bays. From her console, Seven could hear the faint beeping of Raffi inviting her to their bed.

Smiling, she stood up and was accosted in the middle of a corridor by Rios, who seemed dangerously intent. He pushed a bottle to her chest then stepped back quickly as though he had just deposited something incendiary.

“What’s this?”

She brought the bottle of William Van Winkle up against the dim light, admiring its dark, amber liquid. The conspicuous signature was etched over its label --the name of a distillery which had produced the most sought after bottles of bourbon in the quadrant. Seven could feel her mouth water.

“An early wedding present,” Rios said, poker-faced.

Seven nearly dropped the bottle, her hand firm around its neck as she lowered it to her thigh. “I’m sorry, what.”

“Look, I know you love her.” He gave her a funny look as she tried to digress, raising a hand to stop her from embarrassing herself further. “No, I won’t hear it. You love her, Seven, and that’s that.”

He handed her a chip. “I retrieved this after the negotiations, when we all had time, and fortunately for me I tend to use my free time combing through _La Sirena’s_ computer. The sender didn’t bother with a private message, which would’ve pinged the right person, but sent it on a public channel. It came through as noise until Emmet alerted me to it.”

She took the chip. “You should be the one taking this to her.”

“Yeah, well. I think you’re the closest family she has now.”

“Besides yourself.”

Rios blew a rush of frustrated air through his lips. “You should be the one there for her when she gets it, okay?”

Seven studied Rios for a moment. “Cris, you’re either avoiding the emotional fall out or you like me too much.”

The resulting grimace was laced with humour. “I’ll keep that open to interpretation, thank you.”

“Fine.” Seven shook her head, the edges of her lips trending upwards into a smile, but not quite. She examined the chip more closely. “I’m going to thank you in advance. For both of us.”

“You’re too noble. And you think too highly of me.”

“I’m surprised everyone does.”

He took the joke with an even-tempered “Ha!” before peering at her with a sudden desire to know more. Instead, he batted the question away and said, “Thank me when Raffi gets what she wants, not before.”

Seven’s posture softened as she said, “As you wish.”

“Look, there will be more opportunities to share a bottle and I’m hoping we can, in the near future.”

“I doubt you’d like to part from your stash, Captain.”

“Oh, for all the right reasons, I do. And family is one of them.”

Seven didn’t have any more words to return so she gave him a casual salute instead, pocketing the chip, and then watching as _La Sirena_ ’s captain disappeared behind a door, his good intentions lingering just as Elnor’s and Tam’s had been, for hours and hours now.

* * *

She panted into Seven’s ear, hyperaware of the rhythm the other woman had set, her fingers pumping in and out as Raffi’s sex clenched around them, squeezing as though taking every last bit of pleasure, pulling them deeper into her.

Earlier, Seven seemed ravenous, her eyes glinting as she stepped into their shared quarters and pushed Raffi into their bed with purpose. Raffi grinned, delighted to be at the mercy of such understated power as she allowed the other woman to pull her bodily along. Raffi’s entire body vibrated its acceptance as Seven stripped her of her clothing. Tonight, as with many other nights since they left Coppelius, her surrender to Seven's ministrations was easy and quick, irrevocable proof to how far she let Seven wander past her defences.

“Baby,” Raffi pleaded, “Please. Make me come.”

Seven groaned into Raffi’s neck, overwhelmed by her request but also motivated by it. Raffi could feel a muscled arm re-position alongside her head before Seven’s hips pushed insistenty into the movement of her hand. Raffi sank deeper into the bed, turning into the pillow beneath her and crying into it with every push and pull.

The pleasure brightened as Seven added even more force behind her hips, the angle of her fingers prodding into the rough spot in Raffi’s front wall, which made Raffi clench even tighter.

“Seven!” she gasped.

“I’ve got you, Raffi,” Seven gritted, her tongue darting out to taste the sweat on her neck. Seven hummed as she took the skin into her mouth and sucked, her eyes closing as the wet sound of their love-making filled the air between them.

There was a river in between her legs, squelching obscenely as Raffi chased the growing tide of pleasure, her own pelvis churning against Seven. The other woman moaned her appreciation, clearly entranced as Raffi maintained the steady beat of her hips. It wasn’t nearly enough.

As though feeling her frustration, Seven eased a third finger in, her thumb sliding over her clit in deliberate circles. The thin burn of being stretched, paired with the white hot pleasure of Seven’s skilful hands over her tight bundle of nerves, made it the contrast she needed to collapse into the intense orgasm already built underneath the surface.

She screamed into Seven's bare shoulder, falling into the abyss faster as she heard the other woman grunt from the feeling of Raffi gripping her. Seven maintained a steady, forceful tempo throughout, unwilling to yield.

Just as Raffi thought she’d ridden through the wave, one vigorous push caused Raffi to gasp and her hips met Seven’s palm in a demand. Something like mischief lit Seven’s face and the woman kissed Raffi’s chest, lingered on an erect nipple with a slippery tongue, cold moisture causing it to harden even further.

“Ah, fuck,” Raffi hissed, her lower body moving of its own accord, plying Seven with the promise of more.

Seven travelled further down, entranced by this journey and taking detours against Raffi’s ribs, her stomach, kissing and licking against the trimmed hair of her mons. By the time Seven’s mouth sucked on her clit, she had released even more wetness, and was on her way to a second orgasm. Raffi rode it until her throat was raw from screaming, her buttocks sore, and her sex oversensitive.

She felt Seven smile against her, taking one more lavish lick and sucking before pulling away and kissing her. Raffi moaned at the taste of their love-making, pawing at Seven’s thighs.

Seven spread her legs wider, opening herself to Raffi’s view, and Raffi hummed appreciatively at the wetness she could see glistening there. From under Seven, Raffi slipped into her, a warm and welcoming grasp, and already incredibly tight, knowing that the other woman had been at the edge the entire time. She pushed two and then three fingers in, slow and deep, before thumbing Seven’s clit with demanding swipes. Seven came against her with a long and satisfied moan, her entire body collapsing on top of her as Raffi chuckled, self-satisfied.

“You’re amazing,” Raffi said.

Seven kissed her deeply, grinding her wetness against Raffi’s hand. “So are you.”

“We’re never getting out of bed at this rate.”

“That’ll be...unfortunate,” Seven said. “I have something for you.”

Raffi moved the hand still cupping Seven's mons and the other woman moaned in soft surrender.

"Can it wait?" Raffi whispered, her hand gentle even as Seven's body began to move, seduced by Raffi's intent. With the fingers still inside Seven, Raffi gathered Seven's wetness before slipping out to coat it on her outer lips.

"Maybe," Seven hissed, moving insistently to seat herself on Raffi's fingers. “Yes.”

Raffi lunged upwards to kiss her, her hand in motion, seeking out Seven's pleasure. For so many years, Raffi had felt her life slip through her control like sand, decisions that took a life of their own and then stalked and tortured her like demons. Now, as Seven sighed into her mouth and melted against her chest, Raffi felt every breath and moan fill her with something warm and indescribable, a horizon slowly brightening as the universe answered every indulgence she hadn't dared ask for or didn't know she needed.

They wouldn't leave for hours after that.

* * *

Breakfast was a light affair, joined only by Rios and Agnes at _La Sirena’s_ mess. Mercifully, there was only a little teasing from Rios, who seemed intent on keeping his rambunctiousness at a minimum as he threw glances at Seven.

Now that they lived together, Seven and Raffi were given a larger living space, a room for a bed and another for whatever they wished --in Raffi’s case, it was her own desk while Seven enjoyed a small reading nook with a small bookcase and a comfortable armchair. Raffi gravitated towards her desk, flicking on three news feeds on separate displays with their volumes muted, and then zooming into a publication on synth policy in another. She retrieved a coffee from the replicator, looking to Seven, who disappeared to the bedroom, perhaps already occupied with another task.

Raffi was a few pages into her reading when Seven appeared beside her.

“You’d want to see this,” Seven said, dropping a kiss on her shoulder and a PADD on her lap. “Rios found it on a wide-channel transmission after the attack on the _Paine_. Come get me when you’re done.”

Raffi nodded, her gaze lowering to read the display. Her stomach lurched into her throat as she saw the origin of the transmission. Freecloud. 

That could only be from one person. She looked up to find her girlfriend but Seven was already walking away. Seven picked up a book to read and took a seat at one of the wide arm chairs, letting Raffi know she was present but also offering her the necessary privacy.

Trembling, she told the computer, “Play transmission.”

Gabe’s adult features filled her vision. He had his father’s lips, and she felt the deep pang of regret and shame as they moved to soft but urgent words. His cheeks, his eyes --they were hers, and she had to temper the familiar awe which came with seeing him.

She was a mess of emotion even before she could properly hear him, and she struggled to listen to his words.

_“Hi Mom,”_ he said, seeking encouragement from someone off-screen. It was probably Pel, and judging from the cooing sounds off-screen, his Romulan wife was holding their daughter.

Raffi’s heart wanted to break in two.

Breathing deeply, he continued, _“I saw the attack on the_ USS Thomas Paine _on the newsreels and I knew that if I didn’t at least ask after you, I’d regret it.”_ He licked his lips, again looking at his young family, beyond the screen. They seemed ever-present, driving him forward and his next words were achingly deliberate, _“I’ve heard about the events in Coppelius. I’m...there’s a lot I’d like to apologize for, a lot I still don’t understand. Just...please. Tell us you’re ok.”_ The recording stopped. 

There were so many ways this could end, Raffi thought, or start.

She sat there for a good ten minutes before she tilted her head, drawing strength from the sight of Seven sitting on a forest-green armchair, deep in a book, deep in thought, her presence immense in that Raffi felt it like an embrace even if they were metres apart.

“Time to face the music,” she told herself.

She opened a subspace channel to Freecloud.

She felt several emotions at once when the recipient answered: nervousness, fear. She twiddled her thumbs, eyeing the empty _horgl_ on her desk. And then there was triumph and incredible freedom when his expression opened into a smile. 

Suddenly, his presence was enough.

“Mom!” Gabriel said. 

His abundant relief and a tentative but sudden interest were the first good emotions she’d seen on his face in _years_. She clutched her chest, the mere sight of something patently different slamming gratitude and love into that space. She had received so few of those emotions from him in decades. To see him now flooded with wariness and concern, felt very much like coming home.

* * *

From her nook, Seven looked up at the scene, her hearing more sensitive to Raffi’s awed intake of breath, the muted sniffles of joy, those nervous swallows as she wet her lips to prepare soft, deliberate words for her son. 

There were awkward introductions, long and lingering silences as mother and son navigated unfamiliar roads towards each other. Raffi cheeks broke into a smile as Pel showed her their daughter, Gabe watching with tempered delight, and suddenly the path had fewer obstacles.

Seven felt her gratitude expand as she watched someone she loved take the first few steps into a new beginning. She could feel old, deep wounds in her own heart begin to heal. 

After, when Gabe had to excuse himself as it had gotten too late, Raffi switched off her screens and sat back with her eyes closed. She looked like she was savouring this moment and Seven watched, living vicariously.

She knew, as Raffi’s smile became wider and wider, that every fight she had ever fought --for the Fenris Rangers, for the xB’s, for _La Sirena_ \--may have actually been worth it.

She never felt this so keenly than when Raffi stood and approached her, putting a hand on her shoulder as she dipped into Seven's space. 

"I love you, you know," Raffi said, kissing Seven's temple, gentle and giving. 

She'd have to thank Rios for this, Seven thought, as the strength rose deep from her chest, a Phoenix resting in the ashes and called to answer. She felt her wings spread, her heart suddenly afire.

Courage was in her words and she couldn't stop them if she tried, "I love you too, Raffi."

They kissed and already, there was a promise of all the good to come.

  
  


* * *

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven’s story has always meant so much to me. From her struggle to regain her humanity, to discovering shards of her identity as part of the crew of Voyager, and then to her fight for equity and justice for everyone else as a Fenris Ranger in the new Picard series.
> 
> ToniH’s prompt struck a chord. I tried to put to the page what the ex-Borg/Synths’ representation has meant to me, and the immense good a champion and staunch ally like Raffi can affect. It’s the unique travails of being part of a minority, the struggle for acceptance and equity, and the immense difficulty of finding a true sense of belonging across so many intersecting identities. Their struggles capture a lot of my own as a woman, as a member of the LGBT community, and as a first-generation immigrant of Filipino descent.
> 
> The Coppelius-Federation treaty in this story and all its actors who strive to make it happen are that hope, that aspiration for a better, more accepting (and happier!) world. Seven, Raffi, the ex-Borg, and the Synths deserve it.
> 
> It’s my fervent hope that Picard gives them (us!) that world in the coming seasons. For now, there’s fic and all the ways with which we can affect the world around us --direct action, advocacy, and education. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I would love to hear from you. Above all, especially during these unprecedented times, may you and yours stay safe, live long, and prosper!


End file.
